


Baby Bone Lullaby

by PAW_07



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Malevolent Forces, Masturbation, Mech Preg, Medical Procedures, Mental Instability, Mind Control, Mpreg, Rape Recovery, Secret Children, Spark Bond, Spark Sex, Sparklings, Sticky Sex, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, Voyeurism, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-14 11:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 33
Words: 137,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PAW_07/pseuds/PAW_07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave decided to strike out at Optimus. Unfortunately, Sentinel got in the way. Soundwave had never realized how different he was from Cybertronian mechs until that night so he decided to experiment with the 'extra parts'. Now, Sentinel never wants Optimus, anyone, to know what happened that night the Con’s clutches… it is a manner of honor.</p><p>Even if he has to bear this new weight inside him alone. Shadows and medics and fates be damn. He's strong enough to do this alone ... he has to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sad Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think this kind of reminds of Faded Blue … you are right. Both were originally started around the same time, but if I ever get around to adding additional chapters to either… well, you would see how different the two would be. Faded Blue would be a selfish smut-fest and this one would get a real plot and spark wrenching secrets for Sentinel. Mmm, angsty. 
> 
> Also, there is no need to quote the poem. It's mine. All the story poems are always mine. :3
> 
> Image: https://paw07.deviantart.com/art/Sentinel-s-Inner-Pain-330879408

... 

You stole my light, my pride, my sight,

And now I want forever to hide my plight.

Yet, no matter how soft or how kind,

To IT I will always sing a sad lullaby.

…

They were supposed to be catching Wasp not a … juiced up stereo with legs. Not that it mattered now, the two of them chained to the ceiling, systems out of sync because of some sonics the visored _freak_ had thrown their way. Sentinel Prime’s internal systems still felt scrambled and his equilibrium was all but gone causing him to be as weak as a sparkling. A disconcerting feeling that stirred the contents of his tank, yet he wanted to keep his fear well masked and so resisted the urge to release his tanks right then and there.

He didn’t want to look weak. Not in front of Optimus. He was the superior officer after all, and Elite regulations told him that panicking was the worst thing to do in a captive situation. And Sentinel had always prided himself for being a stickler for the rules. Besides, he would never let Optimus think he was stronger than him. He was stronger than that glory hound, that _coward_.

_He wouldn’t have let her die…_

At least that was what he dreamed of whenever he thought of the fire truck. Dreams were rare already for a transformer, but his dreams… were always of her, reaching for him, crying out for him as she fell.

_Elita…_

Shaking his head, hating how being around Optimus was bring forward old agonies, Sentinel shook his head to regain some equilibrium. She was deactivated after all and so should his want for her be dead as well. He needed new dreams and new wants. Like … like … He wanted to be Magnus. Yes, that was his longing now. It was his to-be lover, especially when it was something that could not die. A title cannot be lost or hurt … just tarnished and traded.

A secret part of him thought of that goal as his only purpose. It would be his love. It would bury that old hurt as well as the thought of the bonding ring in his sub space that he could never take out. He had bought it for her shortly before the incident, waiting to ask her to be his until after they graduated.

A day that never came.

And that thought made him sick.

“Your tank bothering you? Mine sure is after that … sound weapon,” murmured Optimus, energon pooling down the side of his head from a wound as he stared at the strangely silent superior. He hadn’t gone down as easily as Sentinel had because he had dealt with Soundwave before, and was beaten down for it.

Sentinel glared, recalling the battle. From what he was able to witness, Optimus knew the attacker… calling him Soundwave or something. As usual, it was Optimus’ fault.

Though he hadn’t been as cowardly as he was with the spiders.

_I want to hate him!_

But no, that was wrong. He was a superior officer and had an honor code. Therefore, an officer obeyed the rules and a loyal Autobot couldn’t think that way.

Though those kinds of thoughts were always there, spitting out of his vocals like venom in taunting little phrases here or there.

Dimming his optics, protecting his pride because he would never just be a lowly construction-bot like his father (like Optimus was right now), Sentinel glared for a moment and grumbled, “My tank isn’t bothering me. My equilibrium systems may be damaged otherwise I would already have us out of here!”

Optimus frowned and pulled at the chains that had him hanging off the floor by a few inches, his peds twitching as he struggled to touch the ground and get some leverage.

Glaring at the chains around his wrist for a moment, he murmured, “I’m _sure_ you would have, but since you can’t… help me think of a way out of this. Soundwave was a little weird this time and I don’t want to know what he has planned.”

Raising a metallic brow, Sentinel was almost afraid to know what Optimus considered weird but found himself asking anyway, “What do you mean by weird?”

Tugging on his chains as he tried swinging, Optimus grunted, “Well, he said something about _Soundwave will be superior_ and not _is_ … like he would usually say. He then tried plugging into my systems by bashing my head into the cement a few times and sticking a _tentacle_ … ugh … thing under my helm. My virus systems were saying he was trying to get to my schematics.”

Sentinel’s optics went wide and he found himself barking, “What! Which schematics! Those are planet secrets, Optimus! You could be labeled a traitor if you gave those away!”

Giving a pointed look, the fire truck murmured, “I didn’t give him anything. He took them, I think. I … passed out.”

“You what! You don’t even know what he specifically took!” yelled Sentinel, not wanting his name to be associated with the mech that revealed Autobot secrets like some kind of saboteur.

Finally looking a little bit angry at the accusations, Prime barked back, “At least I fought harder than you! You were out after the first minute!”

“Are you saying my melee skills aren’t up to par!?”

“Yes! Yes, I am saying that!”

“Oh, I’ll have you court-martial-ed for insulting a superior officer!”

“The only thing superior about you is your bad attitude, Sentinel. You have always been a jerk, but you knew when to lay off. Now lay off! Before Elita deactivated you _… what’s that_?”

Optimus suddenly went still, his head jerking to the left and revealing the ghastly truth of what Soundwave had done. Sentinel’s rage deflated for a moment at the gore as he shrank back at the sight. Something was _still_ attached to the other’s helm, like a radio transmitter or something. That didn’t stop him from barking though, Elita’s name pressing at his mind, “What where you going to say! Out with it, Optimus! And what is that thing attached to your helm?”

Optimus turned to glare at the loud mouth Prime and murmured, “Quiet, I heard something?”

“Oh, don’t try to get out of this! I was talking to you! What were you saying about Elita!”

“Loudmouth: annoying,” came a static filled robotic voice as a blue and bulky form wandered out of the shadows to look over the two Primes like they were little more then hanging meat.

Sentinel glowered at the intruder and Optimus frowned, the latter murmuring, “Soundwave, why are we here? What do you want with us? Let us go!”

The mech tilted his head and came forward. Staring for a moment before he slowly reached a hand forward, running his hand over Optimus’ jaw and making the mech jerk back. Soundwave merely stood there in front of the two undeterred, staring at the energon that was now on his hands. The implantation was still bleeding. The blue mech frowned behind his visor as he stared at the blue glow of Optimus’ energon. He knew all too well that _his_ fluids were not the same color and that bothered him.

Bringing his hand down, he said with the same toneless voice, “Knowledge: required. Structure is superior: rust-less and timeless.”

Optimus’ optics widened. Seeing the Con in the light for the first time now he noticed there were red patches on his armor, probably from hiding out in the sewers. It was rust. He must not have been made very well and though the rust was minor, it seemed far too accelerated from being down in this wet place.

In fact it was so accelerated; it was like it was a disease or a chemical he had gotten into. He was made of soft earth materials after all, originally a child’s toy and not Cybertronian metals that could last a millennia, so it really shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise.

Regardless of the initial shock from Optimus, Sentinel seemed to realize what was going on without Optimus having to clarify. “Frag, no! We are not going to give a known criminal our schematics or metal! I don’t care if he’s dying. It’s against regulation and _we_ won’t tell you anything … though if you surrender yourself and release us, medical care is offered to all prisoners. So, release us!”

Looking at the loud mouth for only a moment, the musical menace turned his attention to Optimus and murmured, “Initial statement: inaccurate. Not _we_ … Optimus Prime will help me. He will help me disassemble his structure and then I will rip into you.”

Optimus recoiled at the thought, barking, “What! I will not bare my circuitry to you!”

Red visor glowing for a moment, the Con reached towards Optimus and tapped the small receiver now attached to the other’s helm while he murmured, “Yes you will.”

Sentinel could only watch in fear and helplessness as Optimus suddenly withered like a switch had been flicked. And the blue Prime didn’t know if he should be more afraid of whatever the Con was now doing to Optimus or how that mech was undoubtedly staring at him from behind that visor.

Not that it mattered, because a moment later Optimus stopped withering like his mother board was no longer being barbecued anymore and turned a dull almost passive gaze to Soundwave, murmuring, “What do you require of me, _Master_?”

With a suddenly hammering spark, Sentinel then watched as the Con walked over to a nearby wall and loosened the chain suspending Optimus off the ground. The red Prime fell to his feet with an uneasy balance, still dazed looking. He didn’t even twitch or strike out when the cuffs around his wrists were removed and fell slowly to the floor. Then with calm hands Soundwave started touching the side of Optimus’ helm again, almost longingly feeling the metal of the other’s face as the Autobot stared with a dead gaze at a nearby concrete wall. They were most likely in a room that once belonging to the subways or sewers.

Feeling a slight protectiveness, his mind telling him it was because he was a commanding officer and not because they were old friends, Sentinel barked, “What the pit did you do to him?! You … stop touching him! Don’t you dare touch a circuit in his body or you will fall under the full punishment of the Autobots' law!”

The petting suddenly stopped and then the visor turned to Sentinel, Soundwave booming, “Silence: It will be obtained either way. If you tell me or if I have to take both of you apart.”

Puffing his chest out as well as he could while hanging there like a piece of meat on a hook, tugging on his chains again as he swung slightly, Sentinel barked, “Frag you! I’m not a traitor or a weakling! Whatever you did to Optimus Prime won’t work on my CPU! I have more security in mine then the glorified repair-bot!”

The sound-mech was about to retort but stalled. He didn’t know that word, _frag_ , and if he was going to successfully infiltrate the Autobot ranks in order to get ahold of that key or a shard of the Allspark in order to get a spark, he had to know at least basic jargon. Turning to the dead-opticed Prime, Soundwave asked, “Optimus: What is frag?”

Sentinel couldn’t stop the blush on his metallic cheeks as mind-zombie Optimus, who was now sitting on the floor looking up at the blue mech with pouty lips, stated in an airy voice, “It’s a way for mechs and femmes to pleasure each other and to make a carried Cybertronian, also known as sparklings. It is used as a flexible insult as well.”

The earth-made mech looked confused, murmuring in a softer tone than usual, “Inquiry: How do they pleasure each other?”

Blinking his half lit optics, the Prime continued, answering his keeper, “Well, one uses their port and spikes, femmes only have ports while mech’s have both a spike and a _port._ Said parts are then used to interlock, arose and exchange fluids. The pressing of sparks, spark rubbing, with this giving of transfluid, or nanites, into a port can then make a valve taken mech or femme spark and be with sparkling. When that happens, they are called Heavy.”

Visor becoming bright, his mind wanting to know all it could about the body he would soon own if everything went right, he asked, “Sparkling?”

“The equivalent of a baby,” answered the Prime as if knowing that dead tone was a question.

Still confused, the Con waved his hand over Optimus’ body unsure of where the equipment was even located as he asked, “Command: Show me.”

Before the higher ranking Prime could even avert his optics, because he did not want to see that, Optimus had popped his cod piece and there was a clang as the metal hit the floor. Then, with a quickness one thought the zombie-Optimus probably shouldn’t have possessed, the repair-bot was suddenly lying down on his back and spreading his legs like a pleasure bot so the Earth-mech could get a better look. Then, to make matters worse, Optimus stuck a finger in and pumped it once or twice in his likely popped valve with how far that finger was going in, stating, “This is the valve, Master Soundwave.”

Then, not even skipping a beat, he rubbed his thumb over the bump that housed his metallic spike only to have it suddenly spring out, the visored mech actually jumping a little in surprise as Optimus explained in that same airy voice, “This is the spike. Another mech’s spike goes into my valve or my spike would go into another’s valve.”

Staring at the member for a moment before he reached out a calm hand and poked it, Soundwave nodded in acceptance; the scientific part of his processer probably coming from a learning program his father-scientist had felt necessary to add for Sari’s education. Then, probably still in science mode, curiosity elated, Soundwave asked, “Show me this … fragging?”

Optimus looked confused until the earth-mech pointed at the chained Sentinel, adding, “On him.”

“What!” squawked Sentinel, a new fighting vigor in his still sluggish systems, “No! No! No! I am a femme kind of mech. I do not do other mechs and I especially don’t have other mechs do me! Optimus! As your commanding officer I order you to put your cod piece on and stop this!”

“Silence,” said the monotone voice that echoed through Sentinel like a volt of electricity causing the cocky mech to snap his mouth shut for a minute, fear suddenly seeding in his spark. This was getting really dangerous. He was helpless and disoriented and Optimus was … a zombie.

He had had better days.

Nodding to Optimus, the intrigued Earth-mech turned back to his pet and asked, “How … does one start?”

Optics still white, Optimus replied, “Foreplay which is the touching of other mech’s or femme’s to get them aroused, especially the valve barer that will be penetrated. They must be wet so it doesn’t hurt and so that friction is easily created.”

Sentinel didn’t like Soundwave’s next words at all, “Start: Get the other Prime wet.”

Voice still struggling to gain its usual vigor, the usually confident Autobot blubbered, “N-no. I’ll-I’ll fuck Optimus’ valve! D-don’t let him touch mine! I-In fact, I-I demand that no one frags. Can’t you just try to kill us like a normal Con?”

Soundwave stared at the blue Prime for a moment and then dully replied, “I am not a normal Con. Optimus Prime: Obey.”

“What! I said no!” squeaked Sentinel. “And why my v-vavle!”

Cocking his head as if confused, Soundwave stated, “Optimus said friction is required. Optimus Prime unchained: he can reach maximum friction into your valve.”

Sentinel almost felt sick with what phrase, his valve twitching in excitement despite his fear. It never got an attention. Never. It hadn’t even been popped since he had never … been with another mech. He prized its disuse greatly because it meant that he was successful in the berth since he was always a dominate partner and never had to be desperate enough to frag anything other than femmes.

It wasn’t the pain of the popping he was afraid of; it was the shame at his loss in sexual status.

In fact, he was so horrified by the thought of losing his sexual prowess that he actually screamed when Optimus touched his leg, the truck having shifted forward on his knees toward the other. The truck-former looked up in surprised and then gave a puppy dog pout as if he had been kicked. Sentinel almost, _almost,_ felt bad for pressing away.

Optimus always had really nice lips.

_W-why had he just thought that! Damn valve!_

Unfortunately, Soundwave was intrigued and anything but patience now, “Chained: Take him.”

Optics going so bright that he was sure he melted something, Sentinel actually squeaked, “ _What_! Y-you are going to make the repair-bot _rape_ me!”

Soundwave, if he had a month, might have frowned in confusion. Then, tilting his head away from the panicking Prime, the overgrown radio looked down at the docile Prime and asked, “Inquiry: What is _rape_ , Optimus Prime?”

Rubbing Sentinel’s leg, not dissuaded by the other’s whimpering as he started rubbing his lips against Sentinel’s inner thigh even though Sentinel had cried out as if burned. Optimus then moved his head up and kissed the other mech’s cod piece before he answered the inquiry, “The taking of sexual pleasure forcefully without the other’s complete consent.”

His mind ticking for a moment, the Con replied, “Conclusion: Then rape him.”

Optimus smiled, as if excited at the prospect of raping the other Prime or because he had pleased his ‘Master’ Sentinel never wanted to know, though his nightmares would always be of Optimus smiling up at him, telling him his valve tasted good and how he was going to enjoy ripping it for orns to come.

The first tear came when Optimus was finally able to jimmy Sentinel’s cod piece and almost lovingly took to kissing his sheathed spike. Said little kisses then headed downward until he met the rim of the valve were he placed the most gentle of pecks, whispering something to it with a heated breath from his inner vents. It was probably something like, ‘Hello there’ or ‘Your beautiful’ or ‘Lovely’ but it didn’t really matter to Sentinel when Optimus almost barbarically forced those thighs apart and like a wild animal stared licking that valve, deaf to Sentinel’s first, “ _Don’t_!”

Many screams like that followed after, most probably music for the Con because he nodded in approval as he perched himself on a crate. He even took out what looked like a guitar and waxing rag, watching almost thoughtfully as Optimus gripped the blue mech’s aft, the other hand continually reaching upward and feeling for seams in the chassis.

Sentinel’s commands and threats of lost in status only lasted for about five cycles until the desperation set in, the truth setting in.

This was happening. This was going to happen. He was going to be raped but his ex-friend.

“Optimus … unnh… please … stop,” whimpered Sentinel as he looked down at the helm between his legs, the helm bobbing slightly as the other lapped at his valve like a hungry turbo-fox. He could already feel oral fluid dripping down his thighs, getting him wet.

Sentinel had to look away in horror. True, he went down on many a femmes in his time but this felt so dirty… so wrong. But, despite the sickness forming in his tank, he suddenly shivered hard as the lapping suddenly turned into sucking, those pouty lips suddenly pressed around the port as if trying to suck the air out of the very carrying chamber.

The blue mech immediately arched, his valve rippling in appeasement, Sentinel murmuring, “Oh Primus.”

Soundwave just titled his head, probably taking readings from Optimus’ CPU to try and see who Primus was and why Sentinel had said his name, not that he gave it much thought when a few cycles later the blue Autobot was withering in his chains, whimpering and bucking, trying to not look down at the helm that was bobbing between his legs, sucking like a sparkling to a feeding wire.

Vocals tight because he knew a moan would escape him, all Sentinel could do was shake his head. He didn’t want his first valve-gasm to come this way. He didn’t! He didn’t want it to belong to Optimus. Pit, he never wanted one to begin with. Once you were popped, it was like femmes could smell it and wouldn’t be interested.

Femmes liked their mechs to be alpha mechs, not catchers.

Pushing down any daring whimpers, Sentinel gained his voice as he looked down.

“T-this has gone on long enough! Stop! Stop! Stop… oooh, ugn, eh,” his wiggling only made Optimus grab his aft tighter though, purring in to valve, unconcerned with the other’s crying.

Sentinel, at the purring vibration, suddenly found himself pressing into the face of the other in reaction. He was coming. Oh Primus above, he felt his whole valve getting tight as a tingle started in his carrying chamber and traveled downward. Then, just as a wet tongue pressed inside him and up toward the inward seal, he felt like he exploded inside. His valve rippled as his first valve orgasm occurred, shivering and clutching at the lips that were sucking graciously at the hungry little hole.

Head thrown back, optics going white for a moment, Sentinel wasn’t sure if the spasming of his valve walls lasted for five minutes or an hour. Not that it mattered, Optimus just kept sucking as Sentinel panted and whined, not even noticing how the blue Prime was now blubbering somewhere between agony and utopia, the tongue trying to keep the orgasm going even though now it was almost to a point of pain as Sentinel withered his hips back and forth unknowingly.

Noticing how Sentinel was almost convulsing over the elongated orgasm, Soundwave suddenly waved at the hungry Prime and stated, “Optimus Prime: Acceptable foreplay. Move on to the next section of interfacing.”

Titling his head out of the warm crook that was Sentinel’s thighs, drool and valve juices dripping down his chin and throat, the zombie-like mech nodded and stood. Then, looking over the other and how Sentinel was slumped, dripping fluids and looking exhausted, he asked, “Master… can I bind his legs up to enter easily? He will not be able to support his own weight.”

Sentinel, struggling to gain some of his senses though he knew the program for balance needed to be reset (time he didn’t have), cried out, “Optimus! Don’t do this! Remember the Autobot code! I helped you memorize them with Elita in the academy! Stop!”

His words must have fell on deaf audios because, suddenly, Sentinel found his legs locked in the chains that had been Optimus’, the pulley system suddenly being tugged and shifting his legs up.

Feeling like a revealed femme, Sentinel immediately closed his thighs when he noticed that Soundwave was staring at his dripping valve. Though, he didn’t get to keep them closed long when suddenly Optimus was in front of him, hands siding between his legs and slowly prying them open.

Soundwave came up behind his zombie to stare some more.

Sentinel actually felt like crying at this point, even more so when Soundwave asked, “Inquiry: why is his valve smaller than yours?”

Optimus didn’t even show a moment of hesitation as he reached forward and pressed a forefinger in causing Sentinel to cringe as he felt that metallic finger press against his inner seal. Nodding at this, his optics brightening probably at the prospect, Optimus answered, “He has never been entered and his valve has not been stretched before. He even has a seal. All mechs and femmes have them for their valve to keep it clean and protected until they become sexually active. It hurts to break it.”

Reaching forward, Soundwave jabbed a finger in as well, making Sentinel arch as the seal tugged, threatening to start ripping open. Only feeling around for a moment, the Con pulled his finger out and stared at the fluid for a moment before he stated, “Proceed.”

Nodding, the controlled Optimus took a few steps between those spread legs, Sentinel twitching back when Optimus grabbed his aft. The other stared at him with dull optics for a moment and Sentinel prayed the other was snapping out of it, only to have his faint dreams crushed as Optimus pressed against him and started to rub against the wet port.

He was getting his spike hard, arousing it.

Sentinel choked in reaction, “Don’t do this!”

Optimus just continued to rub, his cock getting harder and harder as it wiped against the wetness between those thighs. Then, a few short moments later, he finally stopped and looked at his Master, murmuring, “I will now guide my hard spike in and break the seal.”

Despite being disoriented, Sentinel tried to kick out though his legs were chained up, growling, “Don’t you dare!”

Optimus merely spread those blue thighs again, not detoured in the lightest, and started to guide in his tool, pressing the head in as he slowly started to groan at the other Prime’s wetness. Sentinel gave on more tug on his chains before he offlined his optics and bit his lip, wanting to keep a little of his pride. He would not cry out like a little virgin. He would not cry out like so many of the femmes he had taken in his academy years.

He merely whimpered and arched … when Prime’s member pressed against his seal, the Prime stalling for a moment. And then, as if finally realizing something, the mind controlled mech almost lovingly petted Sentinel’s thigh, slowly moving that warm hand to Sentinel’s lower back. Now, acting like a kind lover, Optimus leaned forward and captured Sentinel’s lips in a kiss and he slowly leaned into the valve… breaking the seal.

Sentinel had tried not to cry out, he truly did. He didn’t know if he should be glad that some of Prime’s bedding instincts were bleeding through the device in his helm or not, because the kiss did smother his cry yet at the same time … it made the act feel far more intimate. It was as if Optimus was trying to comfort him as a first timer and that just made the blue mech feel sick because it made the act far more real. Optimus was … making _love_ to him not only taking sex from him.

Not that he got to dwell on if Optimus was really conscious for this all or not, because the red and blue Prime pushed farther in causing Sentinel to arch and nearly break Optimus’ heated kiss, the cock slowly pushing in deeper and deeper, stretching him farther and farther apart … and it hurt! It fraggen hurt! The popping was less painful then the stretching. He was sure he was ripping though he knew that he would not. He had broken a few femmes’ seals in his time and knew a mech of his size could take someone of Optimus’ size as long as he was lubed… and the other Prime had done a fair job of that.

But … had it hurt for the femmes like it was fraggen hurting for him now? Especially now that Optimus was fully inside and just … remaining there, still, his vents hissing as he stuck his tongue deep inside Sentinel’s mouth. Simultaneously, the hand that wasn’t holding his thigh up was even rubbing Sentinel’s lower back. Optimus’ optics were even dimming with pleasure, more soft touches following after.

Sentinel, trying to forget the femmes he had taken much like Optimus was taking him now, offlined his optics and prayed for his old friend to stop. Or to at least stop touching him so softly and to stop kissing him because … he just couldn’t take that. At least a cold fuck would have been less degrading but it seemed that even though Soundwave had the other’s mind … it didn’t change how Optimus interfaced.

Slowly, and cruelly, a part of Sentinel’s mind mocking him for being raped in such a way.

Suddenly, interrupting the victim’s thoughts, a low groan escaped Optimus and he pulled up on Sentinel’s thigh and then he shifted, pulling out slightly, slowly inch by inch until he was barely a few inches still inside… only to press back into Sentinel’s warmth.

Despite the slowness of his re-penetration and the soft kisses that were littering from Sentinel’s mouth and down to his neck cable, every pain receptor let the blue Prime know its distaste in this situation. Sentinel could only throw his head back in a silent scream as Optimus got all the way back inside again. Optimus merely groaned as their thighs met and kissed Sentinel’s chin, before he pulled out half way and slowly pushed back in as carefully as he possibly could. This slow love making repeated itself several or maybe a dozen time, and though Sentinel’s legs started to shake, it wasn’t hurting as bad as when Optimus had started.

Optimus was trying to make it good for him and that… that was just making him ill. He was getting raped! His body shouldn’t be adapting to it!

Wailing in mental agony as Optimus pushed all the way back in, stretching the tight little port as the truck-former sucked on a neck cable, Sentinel blubbered, “Stop! Please Optimus, you are s-supposed to be too good for this l-like always! Uh! Stop! Y-your st-stretching me too much!”

Optimus stalled for a moment as he raised his helm to meet Sentinel’s gaze and for an astro-second the blue mech was sure the other had heard him and was about to pull out. Instead, Optimus merely stalled and stared down at Sentinel as if confused, as if asking ‘ _isn’t this good for you_ ’. Then, releasing the other Prime’s lower back, he brought that hand toward their equipment. Relief overcoming him slightly, Sentinel almost thought that Optimus was going to use the hand to slowly guide his spike out. Instead, a thumbed digit came forward and started to rub on the nub of Sentinel’s housed spike. Since his valve was currently full, his spike was unlikely to pop up because his interfacing programs were laboring to intake new information from the valve, but rubbing the tip was a good way to arouse a lover and to try and get them to come if they weren’t being completely pleasured or where in pain.

A trick Sentinel had used on many popping femmes many times.

Smiling softly, as if a part of his mind wasn’t aware this was rape, Optimus started rubbing the equivalent of a clit making Sentinel arch again … gasping. It was feeling really good at this point, like when Optimus had been bobbing between his legs. Quickly shaking his head, hating how when his hips swung into that metallic cock that it actually felt really good, Sentinel tried to recall the pain of his popping to chase away any warrant for pleasure.

Arching again as Optimus shifted inside of him, the hand that had been on Sentinel’s leg moving upward as the other hand remanded on the revealed head of the blue mech’s shafted spike, Optimus leaned forward and started picking up the pace. Moaning, finally able to create some friction because Sentinel was now squeaking with each penetration, Optimus buried his helm in the crook of Sentinel’s neck kissing and moaning and venting and shivering as his cock’s pace grew faster along with the rapid rubbing of the thumb between the two of their thighs.

Sentinel arched, the edge of the cliff crumbing and he was about to fall over the edge, his hips shifting trying to get away yet wanting to be closer despite how much it disgusted him at the thought Optimus was going to bring forth an orgasm from him. Throwing his head back, another tear falling down his cheek, he whimpered, “Please stop! Please… I-I can’t … You are going to make me come! Pp-please don’t filthy me in this way!”

Optimus merely moaned, moving faster inside him as he started kissing the side of Sentinel’s cheek and chin again, whispering, “It’s okay. It’s okay … to come. I want you to come.”

Sentinel whimpered in his throat, legs shaking, he didn’t know what else to do. The tingling was happening again, even with the pain. It was pulling at his chamber inside and was holding him on edge. It was so frustrating and horrific and it was starting to feel so excellent though a part of him was horrified by the prospect. Not knowing what else to do, Sentinel threw his head back in a wail of emotional agony as he gave in and stared to ride that cock as well as he could in chains, pressing his hips into the other as he hoped to just come and be done with it. He even went so far to arch his neck to allow Optimus to smother him in kisses and licks.

Optimus took that as an invitation and grabbed Sentinel’s aft hard and starting pounding, slamming so hard into that valve that it felt like enlightenment to both of them. Sentinel could merely whimper in response though, trying to shift and get more cock inside of him … the pain enlaced pleasure driving him further and further to the edge.

Soon, there was nothing but the sounds of pounding metal and the smacking of fluids and pede-flesh filling the room, Sentinel half crying out with each slam into him which only drove Optimus into a frenzy as he littered more kisses on the other, squeezing Sentinel’s aft as droplets of lube fell onto the floor. Sentinel, finding himself getting even more aroused by the grunts Optimus was making with each slam into his aching port, suddenly felt the cords inside his valve still … pushed over the edge… and then he came, hard. He arched up once more against his chains, the cock pressing into him deeper than ever, a screech so loud that Soundwave winced. Though … it was finally over, Sentinel elating for a few minutes before his cried died and he collapsed to be support by his chains and Optimus’ hands, Optimus Prime’s cock was expanding as was normal when it was filling full of nantites … and then it explode inside of the blue mech, filling him full of hot cum.

Sentinel couldn’t help but arch slightly against his chains as his insides became hot and almost agonizing as the fluids filled him up. Optimus could merely pant as he came. Then, still too full of Optimus’ cock to react, Sentinel watched in disgust as the visored mech got nearer to watch with interest as Optimus’ member expanded slightly and released the last of its load into the deflowered valve which was sucking on the cock like greedy lips, minuscule amounts of cum dripping down to the floor with energon and valve lube.

Nodding, standing up to stare at a gasping, whimpering Sentinel, Soundwave turned his attention to the dull opticed mech, requesting, “Show me more.”

…

“Uhh, uhhh … Ahhhhhh!” cried Sentinel as he finally came, the cock still pressing into him as his once-friend rode him doggy style, chains braced to the floor. Optimus crying out a moment later, the valve swallowing as it came, the mech’s cock as far as he could get inside before his engine roared and suddenly there was another splatter of warmth inside of the blue Prime… for the fourth time that night.

Optimus had told Soundwave there were apparently thirty-six positions Optimus admitted to know and the sick fucker probably wanted to see them all.

“Next position: On top of him. I wish to see a breeding or spark rubbing as you called it. He has enough nanites in him: Correct?” said the monotone voice, almost excited as he watched cum drip to the floor below.

Slowly nodding, Optimus quickly rolled Sentinel over onto his back, chains shaking as they were repositioned, loose but still constricting. Sentinel only shook his head in disbelief. It even took a moment for the blue mech to truly comprehend what was about to happen before he could react. Yes, his valve hurt, his pride hurt, he was overflowing with Optimus’ nanites, but up to this point it had seemed surreal. True, the likelihood of being impregnated was only three or five percent for a new couple as the chances increased with each unprotected bonding, but sharing one’s spark… made it real.

A bond, no matter how weak, would form.

He could have told himself it wasn’t that big of a deal, he could pretend it wasn’t there, but every partner one shared their spark with created a bond that would prickle from time to time as a reminder that the sparks had once been one. That bond, in effect, would always remind him that tonight … had happened.

He would always be soiled.

Finally snapping out of the stooper the helm wound and Optimus’ surprisingly thoughtful lovemaking had created for it being a rape, Sentinel screamed and kicked out like a femme being gang raped by half a dozen mechs in an alley. Sentinel didn’t care if he was sluggish and weak and sore and embarrassed and not minding his training as a soldier to remain _calm_! He was not letting this happen! With a vengeance, his repair systems probably working on his systems despite Optimus’ rigorous workout, Sentinel started kicking out his loosely chained legs as he started roaring.

Optimus merely murmured like a half-drunk fool that didn’t really understand what was going on, “Shh, shh. I will make it feel good. It will be so good. You’ll come and our sparks will…”

Sentinel just cried out, yelling, “No! No! Don’t sully me this way! I-I was your friend! I was your friend until you let Elita die! Please, b-because of that. Stop! Stop!”

Soundwave growled, his sensitive sound receptors not expecting the sudden noise, yet the blue Prime was now crying out like when Optimus first started taking him. Rising to his feet, just wanting to see where this went, maybe only breaking down Optimus for parts if the blue mech was bountiful with a sparkling and later trying this interfacing as well, Soundwave walked toward the struggling pair.

Not even missing a beat, Soundwave was suddenly in Sentinel’s field of vision, hand spread wide and then there was a squeal from a small speaker in his palm. A sonic weapon it was and everything blurred, slowed. Sparks of light seeming to freeze in time and space, Optimus’ words dulled though he knew on some level that Optimus was now back inside of him from the grunts and the whines, kissing on his helm and chin. He couldn’t feel that cock pounding into him or how long he had been disoriented until feeling started to return to his limbs, his valve twitching in pleasure.

It wasn’t until Optimus’ voice whispered, husky and struggling like he was just struggling to keep his voice even, “Master, I will now open his chest. I’m getting close and so is Sentinel’s valve. I will continue pleasuring the two if us until we both start orgasming and then I will press our spark glasses together, joining our beings for a short time. The building charge may split off and create a sparklet from our two combined beings. If there is transfluid and it survives the plunge into the carrying chamber a sparkling may be created from the union.”

Reaching a hand up, chains clunking loosely, Sentinel tried to move his mouth, beg for Optimus not to do this. Pit, maybe he would even threaten him with a court martial or anything to stop this, but his systems were still regaining themselves and all he could do was mumble incoherently as Optimus found the release for his chassis. The room was quickly bathed in light, soft blue with shivering textures of electric navy-blue from time to time as his spark shifted in its casing. Soundwave merely watched envious for a moment, knowing that soon he would have to get a shard of the Allspark to have one as well, before he titled his head to Optimus.

Optimus, not needing to be asked, opened his spark chamber as well.

Gold.

Optimus had a golden spark. A color that promised great things. No wonder Ultra Magnus had given him a second chance. No wonder… everyone had loved him, unlike how no one seemed loved Sentinel. They all praised Optimus… except for Elita. She had only seen him, but Optimus had taken that away.

He wouldn’t even let him die with her.

Sobbing in his throat, the edge was coming and Optimus was leaning down, ready to share his being. That spike slammed a few more times, whispers in his audio and finally Sentinel came. His valve rippled so hard he felt like he was devouring Optimus’ spike by crushing it and Optimus choked as he came without warning as well, Sentinel knowing not what else to do but throw his loosely bound arms around Optimus’ neck as he buried his head in the crevasse of the other mech’s neck. Optimus didn’t waste a moment pressing their sparks together as he fell downward in overcoming pleasure. The spark rubbing threw light everywhere, lighting up the dark torture room and in effect caused both of their orgasms to keep coming. Soon, sparks flew and there was this elation the two souls started to join, flowing into each other likely ghostly chains. The jolt, a minor bond starting to be created, bloomed in their chests as the sparks started spinning against each other faster and faster trying to be one until they were suddenly pulled apart. The jolt caused Optimus’ cock to stall its pounding and come again, hot cum splashing inside of Sentinel once more which caused the blue mech to arch and cry into Optimus’ audio as he came as well again, his valve rippling as it tried to devour the other Prime’s fluids.

For a moment, the smell of Optimus in his olfactory, Sentinel almost felt like this was an act of love. That they were sharing their sparks in an act of companionship, Optimus’ spark so warm and kind and forgiving. It was also sympathetic as if it knew, as if it knew it had no control over this, knowing and pressing against Sentinel’s shame and fear as it tried to offer nothing but love and understanding. And for a moment… the afterglow as wonderful and he pulled Optimus as close as he could in appeasement.

He even felt Optimus kiss his helm… and then reality came crashing back down, Optimus arching up and grabbing his own helm in pain. Sparks were jumping over the device that was there. It was extra electricity from their joining! And then the fire truck’s optics went offline, his chassis closing of its own accord before he collapsed on top of Sentinel with a dull thud… cock going limp inside him.

Soundwave actually jumped back in surprise, his posture guarded and for a moment as there was nothing but silence, the only sound Optimus’ system whining down and Sentinel’s engine hiccuping.

Slowly, the Con stood up straight and came forward, leaning down to touch Optimus. He shook the Prime for a moment, and murmured, “Spark sharing overloaded? Hypothesis probable.”

Shaking Optimus once more though the other was still enough to be offline, the blue Con huffed and then reached under Optimus’ armpits and lifted him up, pulling him out and off of Sentinel. With a grunt he turned Optimus on his back and then knelt down, playing with the device attached to the repair-bot’s helm.

Sentinel merely lay there on the floor, chains loosely bound because of Optimus’ last position, his mind was vaguely aware he was covered in fluids and his equipment hurt and … and Optimus’ mind control device had shorted out because of the spark overload. Soundwave was currently leaning over the other Prime trying to fix the other to continue his game … Sentinel had been forgotten.

Unfortunately for the Con, his back was now turned to Sentinel, the charge had reset some of the blue mech's systems, the helm injury and the sound attack now merely making the blue Prime numb. He was not numb enough to waste a given chance for escape though.

Not wasting another moment, hate and fear pushing him, Sentinel sat up and grabbed his loose restraints throwing them around the Con’s neck.

The earth model barked in surprise as they both fell back and with quick reflexes the musician elbowed Sentinel in the chassis, aiming for the open spark chamber and barely missing. Grunting in surprise, struggling with slow systems, Sentinel was able to get his chassis closed, but the distraction had done its damaged and suddenly Soundwave was straddling the slightly larger Prime. His hands were now reaching forward and around Sentinel’s neck, cutting off the tubing that brought energon to his helm and hard drive.

Sentinel sputtered, hands reaching towards those thick blue fingers around his throat, but Soundwave’s grip was too sure and he couldn’t rely on his training to slam his palm into the other’s face because the chains may have been loose but where not that long. He wouldn’t even be able to try and poke out the other’s visor!

He was … going to deactivate and if Optimus got out of here, everyone would know that he died weak and pathetic like a raped femme. He would be dishonored in deactivation as an Elite Guard. They probably wouldn’t even lay his body to rest in the Elite catacombs.

No … that was too much to bear. He was already defiled. He would not die remembered only for that and no other great feats. He hadn’t even been in a great battle yet while Optimus apparently had.

Rage suddenly bubbling forth, optics searching for anything, _everything_ , he saw his chance. A stone. A simple stone.

He didn’t waste a moment grabbing it and slamming it into the other’s neck. The other grunted, rolling off … and after that. Sentinel didn’t recall his training, his honor and the rules of an Elite. He just saw someone else slamming that stone into the blue Con’s helm. And they couldn’t stop.

They just kept smashing and smashing and smashing, fluids slowly covering their hands like a grisly horror movie.

They…

No, no. This was him again. _H-he_ couldn’t stop himself from pounding that mech’s helm into the cement when the stone had crumbled into rubble. Even when the Con’s limbs stopped twitching and there was oil splattering everywhere with each impact of the now broken-open helm, he couldn't stop. Only once he heard a moan from Optimus echo over the room did Sentinel stop, his optics going wide.

The other Prime was snapping out of it and soonhe would be able to figure out what happened if he didn’t remember everything already! Both of their latches revealed.

Swallowing a whimper, Sentinel struggled to his feet, collapsing once before half crawling over to the other mech. Once there, he reached into a leg compartment and grabbed a rag that was meant of cleaning his weapons to wipe the other’s cock off, pressing it down into its casing as his optics struggled to find both of their cod pieces. Luckily, neither one were very far and he was quickly pressing Optimus’ latch down onto the groggy Prime. A heavy click filled the room just as the truck-former raised an arm to rub his head. Rushing to hide the evidence, Sentinel turned his back for a moment to wipe his thighs, more worried about the nanites then the fact his hands were covered in oil. Then, stuffing the rag in his port, wincing as it stung, he clicked his own shut just as the repair-bot sat up, groaning.

“Uhhh, what happened? My head… We-we were chained up … and how did we both get on the floor?”

Sentinel turned his head in a panic and almost wept. He was so glad that his hunch was right that a zombie-state wouldn’t recall raping his ex-best friend since Optimus had no control over his actions. It had been a wild guess that Optimus wouldn’t remember, but even if the other Prime did remember… Well, he would reply it was madness! Soundwave was just messing with his mind.

Nodding to himself, Sentinel looked at his hands as the other Prime slowly got to his feet, glad the oil was covering up the stains of their courting. He was so shell shocked that he barely even noticed that Optimus was standing over Soundwave’s corpse, a hand over his mouth and his optics full of horror, his voice seeming like a whisper from the past, “W-what happen here?”

Struggling to get to his own feet, though he was sure he would collapse, Sentinel stood up as proudly as he could and whispered, “Nothing, I took care of him … let’s just get out of here.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  Revisions October 2014.
> 
>  


	2. Blood Letting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Optimus’ frown grew hard as he watched Sentinel stall again, leaning against a building as he vented heavily. He looked ready to pass out, his form weary as his wrists and ankles dripped slight amounts of energon. Stalling, wishing that Sentinel would have just stayed in the old substation the first time he felt faint, Optimus reached a hand out towards Sentinel’s shoulder ready to steady him …

Merely to have Sentinel jumped back, optics bright and wide as he cried, “Don’t touch me! Don’t fraggen touch me!”

Hands going up as Optimus stalled in the subway, the fire truck took a step back while being mindful of the middle track so he wouldn’t electrocute himself. Optimus’ voice was weary, “Wo, wo. It’s okay Sentinel. Calm down. You just looked like you might … fall. I … wasn’t going to hurt you.”

Optics still bright, Sentinel quickly realized his mistake: _paranoia_. He was making himself too obvious.  

Trying to remain calm, the blue mech sighed and shook his head. “S-sorry … everything j-just hurts. Yeah, e-even my armor hurts. Please don’t touch me.”

Optimus stood there a moment surprised that Sentinel had actually said _please_. It had been a long time since he had heard that from the other and it made him stall. Dumbfounded, all Optimus could do was stare at Sentinel as if he was looking for something.

His spark merely throbbed as the two shared a long stare. Optimus didn’t know what happened down there and that bothered him more than anything … mostly because his spark seemed to be pressing against its glass, whispering something that he _should_ know.

Whatever it was, it was something mournful and sick … something his mind should know. And not knowing, to have his thoughts stolen by the Earth Con, enraged him slightly. Though, now staring at Sentinel, he realized that all of the answers to his missing thoughts were right in front of him. Sentinel was the one that had remained awake and had suffered for it. Unfortunately, there was shame and hurt in the Sentinel’s optics and … was that fear? Did he want to know?

What could Sentinel possibly be afraid of?

Frowning, Optimus murmured, “Please, let me help you back to base… unless you want me to drive ahead and get Ratchet? He can transport you.”

Sentinel shook his head, knowing already that he didn’t want Ratchet anywhere near him so soon after being … violated. Ratchet was a war mech and probably had seen many a mech and femme come into his tent violated and shaken. He could probably convince Optimus’ that he was shaking because of torture, but a medic would notice that none of his systems were damaged the right way. The longer he kept away from Ratchet to collect himself, the better. In fact, it was probably best if he kept away from Jazz as well. The ninja-bot wasn’t a medic but he was trained in certain aspects for emergency situations.

Finding his voice, a part of him secretly glad that Soundwave had damaged their comm. links with his sonic blasts, he murmured, “No, neither of us could take on an enemy this way. Remember the Autobot vow: no one gets left behind.”

Optics going wide, Optimus forgot how religiously Sentinel upheld the Autobot vows and how much those words echoed in his helm … like the day Elita had fallen into that hole in the earth, crying out for them and Sentinel begging to go after her.

Putting a hand out, wanting to touch Sentinel’s wrist at least but somehow resisting, he murmured, “No, no. I’m not leaving you behind. I-I was just worried about you health and I was going to get Ratchet, but you are right. We will stick together.”

Walking slowly, glad there were two tracks just in case they met a subway train so they could move over, Optimus finally broke the silence after what felt like forever and asked, “Sentinel … what happened down there? I don’t remember anything. Tell me what happened. You looked quite shaken.”

Sentinel moved his lips, his mind struggling to pick one of the dozens of lies his mind had made up and finally he decided that the closest thing to the truth would be the easiest to uphold. Moving his lips, his throat feeling raw, he murmured, “Well, we were hanging there and then we saw that that Soundwave character was rusting. He then … then started that device on your helm and it was like you weren’t there anymore. Apparently, he wanted to get our structural information so he could … have our bodies. He said that he wanted yours and … you started telling him about your structure and where _things_ were located. I was yelling at him and apparently he wanted info from me as well.”

Here is where the lies started and though he knew that they would just pile on top of each other until they crushed him under their weight, he spoke them anyway.

His lips moved as his vents sighed, “He decided to play with me for being a ‘loud mouth’. He used his sonics and electricity to … torture me.”

Optimus’ optics brightened in the dullness of the subway tunnels before he turned his head, the darkness devouring all the light except for their optics it seemed, “I’m sorry, Sentinel … but … how did you get down?”

Frowning, his mind struggling to find the right lie, another lie on top of another, he grumbled, “I pretended to be offline. He took me down so he could start taking me apart.”

Sputtering, horror in his optics, Optimus shook his head as if he had been the one raped, whispering, “A-and I just watched.”

Spark so pained, he bore his teeth and then let his lips fall open … words almost soft, “What’s done is done… let’s not talk about it anymore.”

Optimus was silent after that, his gaze shifting to the crippled and disoriented Sentinel. A part of him wished that he could read minds because Sentinel never forgot easily especially when something was wronged against him. He expected justice through Autobot law. True, he did pound Soundwave’s cranium into the cement which in itself seemed far too violent and desperate for the clinical Sentinel, but where was the demand for paper work or procedure?

Something was wrong with Sentinel, and why wouldn’t he look him in the optic?

“Sentinel… are you sure you are alright?” said Optimus, his voice almost begging.

Giving the other’s worry no mind, the blue mech pushed himself forward in front of the other though his limbs were shaking and his helm was starting to feel disoriented again like when he first woke up; the pain between his legs from his first popping and the sonics after were not helping the exhaustion. Frag, he knew from the femmes he had popped that he should rest and let his systems relax because they were recalibrating for a new online system.

Frag, when he had taken Elita, he had lain with her all day, holding her. A first popping was meant to be comforted afterwards. At least that memory could be grasped onto whenever things got hard, her helm buried into his shoulder, her squeaks and giggles when it started feeling good for her. And the way their bodies fit so perfect together like they had been made for each other. Sure they had their spats, he would be a jerk and she would just come right back and knock him down a peg or two with a lilt word or two and the swing of her hips. She was the perfect femme. It had only been about two orns later that, after they had spent that night of soft passion together, that he lost her.

Grabbing onto her smile and the ghosting feel of her kissing on his audios as she had been so fond of doing, even in public, he kept his feet moving even when his legs started to feel numb. Frag, he had to keep moving. Even if he had to pretend that she was mocking him for being weak. He held onto that ghostly echo of her voice until he finally had to crawl up out of the railway and up into a group of staring late nighters waiting for the train. He even imagined her cooing at him for being a sparkling since he couldn’t even crawl up the stairs and out into the street.

And even when Optimus begged that he should take a break, he imagined that it was just any other adventure, the three of them with Optimus begging that this was a bad idea.

Huh, to think. If Elita hadn’t died, he would probably be like Optimus and Optimus would probably be the rule-myster. Elita’s deactivation had taught him a hard lesson that day, one that bled into his spark and made him cold and serious. Gone were the days of bad decisions. The rules were now there to protect him. The rules were there to be obeyed.

If he had just listened to the rules… none of this would have ever happened.

Frag, he was dizzy.

‘ _Stop acting like a protoform; you can’t even walk straight_ ,’ came Elita’s voice in the back of his head. And he tried to obey it but his equilibrium was going. He couldn’t stand anymore though he knew he had to be conscious for when they got to the ship. He had to make sure the medic didn’t see certain things. He had to remain conscious.

_‘Oh baby, it’s okay to be tired.’_

“D-don’t say that,” whispered Sentinel, cleaner welling up in his optics. She was supposed to be his strength. She was supposed to keep him strong. Yet … here he was. Slowly falling to his knees, Optimus grabbing for him to try and slow his fall. He should have screamed and pulled away, told Optimus never to touch him again. But for a moment, he imagined the one touching the side of his helm was Elita and that those worried blue optics were hers…

Reaching a hand up, now cribbed in Optimus’ arms, he whispered, “Elita… I’ve missed you. P-lease don’t leave me again.”

Optimus’ optics went wide, the mech just trying to cradle Sentinel’s helm, and a sudden fear prickled in his chest as his old friend reached up and touched his cheek… calling out _her_ name. Sentinel would never forget Elita even when he was potentially deactivating… Frag. No, no, no! Sentinel wasn’t offlining, was he? He was shaking and weak and should have really stayed in the subways to recover. But would that have really mattered? Because … What if Soundwave had ripped out some system components when he had been out of it?

He had left Sentinel defenseless, hadn’t he? Sentinel always did need his back watched.

Choking in his throat, he pulled his friend close, his mind fighting with itself to either get up and leave or stay here as his old friend offlined. The latter made the most mournful sense: Sentinel was going to offline even if he ran the whole way to base because the blue mech’s systems were turning off to quickly, one by one as if he was going into recharge. Optimus felt helpless as he just watched it happen. It reminded him of the spider planet all over again, but this time … now Sentinel was falling in after her.

Fortunately, this time he wasn’t a scared, young mech. He was a soldier no matter what Sentinel called him. He was strong.

Shaking the other, voice pitched, anger bubbling as he almost yelled, “Sentinel! Sentinel! Don’t you dare deactivate! Elita would never forgive me! SENTINEL!”

Still shaking the other slightly, watching as the blue mech struggled to keep online, the repair-bot nearly wept in frustration when he heard jet engines. It had to be Cons and yet as those horrid engines drew nearer, it seemed Primus could see him even on this small planet, because instead of two towering titans of hate and steal, there were two little sure-footed saviors landing on the pavement. It was Jetfire and Jetstorm sliding to a halt.  

“We’s being hearing screaming. Who’s is…”                                                                                                                                                                 

The two stalled, optics going bright as they both stood there a moment in horror. And Optimus didn’t blame them. He was bleeding down the helm like a dying mech and Sentinel was bleeding as well down his wrists and ankles, shaking as his optics struggled to remain online. He looked like he was offlining … if he really wasn’t.

“Primus,” whispered Jetfire and Jetstorm in unison as they ran forward crying, “Mr. Sentinel Sir! We’s been looking all overs! Is he’s alright?”

Jetstorm was soon kneeling next to the conscious and nearly unconscious Prime, his blue hands acting like they wanted to touch his superior but unable to. Meanwhile, Jetfire merely stood over the two, looking panicked and scared. In fact, he looked far more his age, too young for such violence despite his power.

 “Whats being wrong with him! What being wrong!” cried Jetfire, his voice causing Sentinel to turn his head slightly… the noise fuzzy to him as everyone’s mouths moved out of sync.

“He needs a medic. Go get Ratchet! You, comm. for some nearby help if there is any,” came a demand, Optimus’ mouth moving a moment later in a tone Sentinel didn’t recall Optimus ever having.

Despite Optimus’ urgency though, Sentinel wanted to say no, to shake his head and get back up, but he was too dizzy and his systems were going dark. He knew the head wound and the trauma from the rape were coming around. Frag, he was so out of it that he didn’t even know Optimus had pulled him into his chest and had started asking him questions.

Frag, he was so numb. He barely even reacted to Jetfire flying off nor Jetstorm yelling over his comm. An orn could have passed but he was so disoriented he barely even twitched when Jazz’s alt mode raced around the corner and transformed into a skid next to the kneeling group.

“OP, what happened to him? The fly-bots were trying to give me the lowdown but the message wasn’t getting across if you know what I mean,” said the ninja-bot as he leaned down and with a careful hand titled Sentinel’s head back so he was looking him in the optics.

He couldn’t even focus on the other.

“Slag, SP. What happened?” said the ninja-bot to Optimus when he noted that Sentinel was struggling just to remain conscious and couldn’t speak. “Is the threat still around? Do we need some backup?”

“The threat has his helm smashed in about three miles back. Sentinel barely got free from what I understand. He had been tortured … and he didn’t want to be left behind. I didn’t want him up and about but he _can be so stubborn_ ,” growled Optimus at the end.

“I hear you, OP. We need to get him to the ship,” said the ninja-bot as he stood up, only to stall as if he had just had an idea, “or bring the ship to us. Ratchet, you there slow-timer.”

“Stop calling me, slow … or old! I’m trying to get some tools!” replied the comm.

“Forget the tools, old timer. Jazz has a plan. Get to the ship, take Jetstorm with you and bring the ship here. The less we have to move these two, the better.”

After that, Sentinel couldn’t keep online much longer. He recalled his vision going completely dead and someone yelling and him. Frag, there was a lot of yelling, and then grumbling and jostling… and a cool surface. Yet, where was Elita? She had been with him, right? Where was she?! She couldn’t leave him, not again?!

Choking, form shivering he pulled himself out of his reboot, whispering, “Elita… where are you?”

Yet… her yellow form didn’t fall into his vision. Instead, it was a bright light and two blurs. No, no, it was Jazz … and the repair-bot’s medic: designation Ratchet. Yes, yes. That was the name in the report he had read. H-he was in the ship’s medical bay, wasn’t he? F-frag. He had to get the medic away from him. He knew that there still had to be signs of the rape. He had to hide them. The paint scratches, the erratic spark rate … faint traces of Optimus’ fluids between his thighs and under the oil on his hands.

“Sentinel’s coming around,” said Ratchet as he turned his head. “Now get back on that berth, young-in. I still haven’t looked at your helm and … and that monstrosity attached to it. At least let the twins do a proper scan!”

Optimus, who had to be practically ripped apart from Sentinel since he was sure his old friend was dying, was still struggling with the twins as he was pushed back onto the second berth in the medical area, the lights bright and the berths online… popping up status screens for the patients’ currently in residence.

Finally giving into one of the scans, as long as he could remain sitting to try and see what was happening on the berth next to his, Optimus asked, “W-what do you mean, coming around! Did you stabilize him? Frag, where is Sari and her key when we need it!”

“Camping, remember we got another faint Cybertronian signal in the woods so Prowl, Bumblebee, and Sari when up to check on it. Sari recommended that they try this ‘camping’ thing again because the barnacles ruined it last time. They are supposed to be back in a few days,” growled Ratchet as he pulled a wire out of the berth and started searching Sentinel’s helm for an impute jack. “And we don’t need her key. I’m perfectly capable of doing my job! Now lay down on the berth!”

“B-but is he stabilized,” said Optimus, almost whining when Jazz turned away from Sentinel and over to him.

“SP will be okay. His systems were just stressed so they were trying to pull him down into recharge and into a reboot. He just passed out. Now listen to the crank-bot and lay down. We still don’t know what that device on your helm does,” said Jazz as he reached for a cord out of Optimus’ berth much like Ratchet had done and walked forward, feeling on the side of Optimus’ helm. Then he slid a small bit of armor to the side and plunged the medical machines into Optimus’ helm. The fire-truck jolted from the sudden invasion, the medical equipment pulling up his file and ripping down his firewalls with ease as they started their examination of his systems.

“Now, just remain still. Sentinel’s systems are far more critical than yours, so let the medic-bot think,” said Jazz, his words far more professional than usual though that wasn’t much of a surprise, given his fellow crewmate looked like death was sneaking up on him.

Sighing, vents taking in air shakily, Optimus lay down and placed a hand over his optics, trying to banish his worries and fears.

Sentinel, on the other hand, was struggling to keep calm. The medic was trying to plug into his helm and start the medical scans of his form to see what systems were stressed: his interfacing and spark chamber for one, and Sentinel would have none of that.

“S-stop… I-I’m fine. O-optimus’ systems were invaded. H-he could have left a virus or something. J-just let me rest. M-my systems can take care of most of the damage,” slurred the blue mech, trying to squirm away.

Ratchet just growled, pressing down. “Optimus wasn’t the one who passed out and isn’t the one who was tortured. Now. Stay. The Frag. Still.”

Tilting his head away every time Ratchet tried looking for the jack to plug in the medical computer, the blue mech tried to get his limbs to obey when he found his voice, “A-are you disobeying a d-direct order?”

Pulling away for a moment, as if surprised, Sentinel almost smiled in relief only to reel back when the old medic suddenly barked, “Don’t pull that on me, young-bot! A medic or surgeon can pull rank on any officer if their health is in question or nearly dying, covered in who knows who’s oil, and half a mili-second from reboot. You can’t tell me how to do my job!”

Sentinel, helm pressing back into the berth as he tried to get away, suddenly found Jazz in his line of sight and grabbing either side of his helm, the ninja-bot smiling sadly, “Come now, boss-bot. Just let the medic do his job.”

Then, betrayal in his spark, he felt one of Jazz’s fingers slide over the slot that would allow the medical equipment to rut around in his head. Only one small sob was allowed to escape him before Ratchet clicked the impute jack into his helm. Then the medical scan slammed into his helm and pass his firewalls, instantly noticing his systems needed a reboot and stabilization. He was only allowed to twitch before his hub went offline and he was forced into recharge.

Meanwhile, every-bot either in Stealhaven or being transformed by mutant barnacles –again- in the mountains, Bulkhead had been left at their warehouse base alone for security … a dark shadow sneaking up behind him with red optics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this story follows the series up until the Transwarp episode. So Ultra Magnus isn’t out of the picture quite yet (I always found it strange that that episode happened before “Where is thy Sting” given Sentinel should have stayed planet side and never gone after a measly escapee). So currently, the story is taking place before that episode but “Where is thy Sting” is happening now as well. So … I’ll explain the timeline in the text, but just wanted you hard-core fans to understand why things were … moved around. It helps kills a few plot holes. What can I say? Oh, and that Sentinel collapsing scene … that would be a perfect death scene. It really would have. But I love Sentinel far too much for that … I hope I broke a few sparks with this chapter. Later. 
> 
> (Revisions March 2014)


	3. Washing Away Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Shockwave picked up a blue metallic cube, crushed perfectly… the spark inside probably dead if it hadn’t faded yet. He had many plans. Many ones indeed. Apparently, one of Megatron’s creations and proven how resilient it was and distracted the Autobots long enough to get a hold off the mech called Bulkhead to finish their space bridge. The bridge he would use to take over Cybertron.

It was to be a calculated attack, many teams taking over multiple space bridges so that it would be an overpowering attack… but Megatron had yet to attack… yet to call back … yet to do anything.

It was a troubling circumstance and he doubted he would have time to clean this up before he was discovered.

Claws twitching as he stared at Blurr’s crushed formed, a part of him thinking it was a slight waste, but he decided that if he was going to lose this position … he was going to go out with a bang. Slowly, with precise and calculating fingers he walked back to his office and took on his humble Autobot form. And though it was in the late evening by Cybertronian standards, if the Communication Head called Ultra Magnus and told him it was important… the old mech would come and with his pet Sentinel Prime and Jazz gone … it was unlikely he would have any lackies with him.

To help defend him…

It would be easy to destroy an old mech and at least kill the old soldier and take his hammer.

Ultra Magnus, picking up the comm., asked, “What is it Long Arm Prime?”

Long Arm Prime nearly smiled.

…

The world … had this insistently irritating what with that Primus awful beeping.

Ugh, he knew he should get up. He should make sure that his underlines were doing as they were told, following the regulations, and basically he had to put a stop to any tom-foolery. Mechs could die if they weren’t following the rules. It was a lesson he knew all too well. So, despite the ache that ruled his frame, he found himself pulling his body up off his berth, only to find himself moan in pain and fall back onto the metal slab, moaning.

What hit him?

O-oh yeah… a fire truck.

“Sentinel Prime, I see you are onlining. About fraggen time!” came a voice, kind of grouchy and irritated yet at the same time there was an underlining tone of worry to it.

Onlining his optics, he moaned again, knowing this ceiling a little better then he would have liked to admit. Jazz, when sparring, had a great round house kick though he would never admit it to the other … and sometimes he needed sleeping nanites from the medical closet. It wasn’t an addiction. He kept to the recommended levels so he couldn’t be court-martialed and could fly the ship… but sometimes in his dreams he would remember her and a youthfulness he forgot he had. It hurt his spark when he woke and he would find recharge inaccessible for cycles after.

Some things were better off dulled and faintly forgotten.

Sighing, praying that Ratchet hadn’t discovered what had happened, he started to sit up as the cantankerous mech headed his way from the other side of room. The healer looked to have been working on a young yellow femme Sentinel didn’t recognize as part of Optimus Primes’ group. He might not have known all of their names but he knew their regulation numbers.

Every one.

But he had bigger worries right now… he felt a slosh underneath his cod piece. Yes, it meant that Ratchet hadn’t discovered what had happened or otherwise he would have been cleaned up by the aged mech’s old fingers and that alone probably sickened him more than being discovered.  Trying not to faint as he sat up straight, he noted that he had been cleaned up otherwise, scratches buffed out and his helm was clear.

Just how long had he been out? He knew he would need a full mega-cycle after the… interfacing, but he had been out much longer than that.

His hub was showing him the date, but he still found himself asking in disbelief, “How long have I been … out?”

Ratchet, now next to Sentinel’s berth and staring at the reading on the hologram over his berth, carefully looked at the blue mech, murmuring, “Long enough to miss another outbreak of space barnacles, Bulkhead being kidnapped, a giant robot battle, a spacebridge backfire, a … uh… a new recruit, and Megatron getting sucked into a randomly firing space bridge generator.”

Looking up confused, he murmured, “W-what? How long have I been out? It says I’ve been out three Mega-cycles? And … Barnacles? What?”

Moaning, slowly touching his helm, Sentinel added, “G-give me a report. I-I can’t process what you are saying.”

Frowning, getting closer he murmured, “Reports are more Optimus’ thing. Now, here, let me see your optics.”

Sighing, he allowed the old mech to title his chin and ran a lighted scan over his optics. The field medic mere sighed and stated, “That sonic weapon really hurt a lot of your systems. I didn’t know what all to fix because Optimus couldn’t remember anything but a sick feeling, and you were rebooting so I couldn’t get anything from you. I fixed all the damage I could see and anything the medical systems were telling me about but … some things your systems needed was just a reboot and others were small energon circuits that just had to repair on their own. That’s probably why you are still dizzy or it might just be because of their disuse. Your date files are a little off … its been closer to eleven Mega-cycles.”

Mouth dropping open, he yelled, “What!”

“Yes, yes. Soundwave damaged your systems far worse than Optimus’. He blasted you more than once from the looks of it and,” Ratchet was silent for a moment as he growled, “your reboot was particularly sensitive with your emotional systems. It was slow repairing them, careful even.”

Optics becoming slits, Sentinel fearing the mech suspecting something, he asked, “Are you hinting at something?”

Gaining a stern face, the old medic asked, “Optimus said something about … torture. What kind? He thought it was electricity but I didn’t see any singeing in the circuits though they did look overcharged. Not a destructive overcharge either. It was more like what happens when interfacing occurs or … when someone touches your spark.”

Fear rippling beneath the surface Sentinel bit down the urge to strike out in terror and rumbled, “What are you trying to say? I am not a slut-bot.”

Optics becoming bright, knowing emotional defense when he saw it, Ratchet tried to resist the urge to bite at the other, “No, no. Sentinel I am not saying that. I know you take your position very seriously, and … Soundwave didn’t even have the right _equipment_ for that. Though… he did have interest in having a body like ours and a … spark like ours, didn’t he?”

Words careful, looking for the micro-expressions to catch the truth before Sentinel denied it, Ratchet asked, “Did he touch yours? Did he torture you by touching it or shocking it? I need to know so I can examine it. I would have done so while you were out but … we’ve been to busy with the Cons and those examinations are best done when awake in case you are having pains.”

Audio fins rising in defense, Sentinel barked, “No! No one … that fragger didn’t touch my spark! Yes, he hit me with his damn sonics far too many times and fragged my systems up but he never touched me like that!”

“Well, then you wouldn’t mind opening your chassis and letting me make sure your okay, would you?” said Ratchet, signing for the larger mech to lie down.

Sentinel, face becoming distorted with rage, growled, “I am not going to bare myself like a whore-bot. Besides, I don’t have time for this from what you said earlier anyway. Something about space bridges and … barnacles. Where is Jazz? I need a real report.”

Pushing back his pain as he ripped the medical cords from his helm, Sentinel’s feet hit the medical floor and though he felt like puking he walked past the healer with a steady yet stiff gait. Ratchet, who looked ready to blow, barked, “Get back here Sentinel! As team medic I have authority over…”

“SHUT IT! Before I break your helm in!”

It was loud, it was harsh and … Sentinel himself was almost shocked by the words that escaped him, but instead he coughed, “I-I mean, only in emergencies do you have any rein over me as a medic. The medical computers say I’m fine. Now … I have things to do.”

Then, balance a little more sure footed, he found himself rushing forward with quick feet. Ratchet could only watch silently until Sentinel was gone and then there was a mouse like sound from the corner for the room. He couldn’t help but turn a tired optic to the yellow colored femme and growl, “Don’t give me that look.”

“What look… we still haven’t figured out how to get my battle mask down,” said Sari sarcastically, “I don’t have a face.”

Ratchet rolled his optics, figuring that he should solve one problem at a time, walked up to her and pulled out a welding looking tool and stood over the small frame again. Sitting still, the old mech having barked at her far too much today for her liking, the new-teen asked, “You better not be using that on me and … is Sentinel okay? I know I shouldn’t care about that jerk but … he looked … scared.”

Frowning softly as he sighed through his vents, his shoulders feeling heavy as bricks, Ratchet’s tone was so soft it should have belong to the dead, “Everyone deserves to be cared about kid, even Sentinel. That’s an Autobot quality so don’t feel bad for having it. And if he’s scared… I don’t know.”

Nodding softly, she added, “But you are still not going to let him get away with that, are you?”

Chuckling, liking the feel of power and need again, the healer turned on his welding torch, “Since your key is on the fritz from your upgrade fiasco… yes, I am the medic which is why I’m going to be sending Optimus a message … as soon as I figured out how to get this off.”

Leaning in with his welder, Ratchet added, “Let us begin.”

...

Jazz, who was beaten and cracked from the recent battle with Megatron over the space bridge, blinked in surprise when Optimus reached up and suddenly started to speak a one-sided conversation over his com link, “That’s great! He finally woke up…. Wait, he what? And you just let him walk away?”

There was a silence, “I understand. I will let the others know. How is Sari? Oh, that was all it took then? I doubt she’s happy about that.”

Nodding his head, looking at Jazz and Bulkhead who were both in the warehouse with him, he murmured, “Okay, Optimus out.”

Looking at Jazz, the jet twins sitting in the distant room with Bee watching television it looked like, Optimus murmured, “Well, it seems that Sentinel is finally awake. You can probably head back to Cybertron now with a full report though Ratchet said he didn’t get a release exam out of the stubborn idiot yet though. So, he needs one before you guys go. We can’t have him breaking down without a real medic nearby.”

Shaking his helm, Jazz added, “I’m sure I can handle any minor blimps, but if the med-bot won’t clear him for active duty until he’s had a check-up, I’m down with that. I dig Earth … except all the Cons and barnacles and giant robot battles …”

Optimus actually smirked at that, nodding towards Jazz, “Good to know. With all the Con activity around here or should I say was … Megatron now jumping randomly in the universe. Regardless, we should have Bulkhead and Prowl keep and outlook for him since they are on rounds.”

Nodding, Jazz turned on his com and in the vibrant way only the ninja bot could, “Yo, Bulkhead, Prowl? You got your ears on?”

There was a moment of silence and though the tone might have been irritated or bemused, one could never tell with Prowl, the other ninja-bot answered, “I would like to clarify that neither of us have ears, but I can tell you I am listening.”

Jazz merely laughed, Bulkhead murmuring ‘ _here’_ and moment later as the Elite continued, “Well, just wanted you two to keep an optic out. Sentinel’s escaped the resident medic and the Hatchet ain’t happy. Just let us know where you find him so we can drag him back to the ship… Ratchet doesn’t want him about without being cleared.”

Prowl merely murmured, “Understood, but he’s a big mech… I won’t be looking to hard,” before hanging up and Bulkhead was silent for a moment.

“So… is he shaking and sick or something? Should I set … uh … a priority in finding him? I definitely will but … uh… he doesn’t like me and won’t listen to anything I say,” said Bulkhead uncertainly.

Jazz listened intently before he added, “Do worry Green … Sentinel doesn’t like anybody but the Ultra Magnus and pretty femmes. Just if you happen upon his blue butt, let us know, kay my brother?”

Confused over the brother part most likely, Bulkhead was quiet before replying, “Oh, okay… Bulkhead out.”

Unfortunately for Jazz or Sentinel depending on the party one would be rooting for, the blue mech was unlikely to be happened upon by any random search. The reason for this not being because he was hard to spot, being blue and loud mouthed generally doesn’t give one great skills of stealth, but because he was nowhere on the streets to be found.

He was in the dark. Head full of secrets and fear and shame. He knew that Ratchet could not force him into a spark exam unless his medical scans came back reporting otherwise … or if they found a clue of abuse. The only clues were his valve, which he would clean with the best of his ability though he had never done it before obviously, the miniscule amounts of cum on his thighs that someone other than Ratchet must have cleaned off in a sponge bath (he prayed to god it wasn’t the dumbfounded Bulkhead or Primus forbid Optimus would had helped clean him up) or the room in which the deed had occurred. He was going to get rid of that first.

His travel over to the location of the crime had been panicked but calculating. Though still primitive, the humans did have some great cleaning chemicals and he also brought some Cybertronian ones for those _stubborn_ patches. It was dark and horrific down there, but it would also offer him a little silence to have any and all proof gone and then … he would do his valve.  

Swallowing at the thought of touching his raw and stretched equipment, Sentinel continued to walk down the subway track still surprised at how he instinctively knew where to go. It was like the nightmare was a full blown film in his head, every clink of the chain on his wrist and whisper of Optimus’ as the other pressed his cock into him… he just wanted some of the details to fade.

But nothing would.

At least cleaning the evidence would offer him some solitude and if Primus knew any mercy, he would forget the details and perhaps the act completely one cycle.

He just had to believe that and yet as he stood in the crumbling stone entrance to the room where he had been defiled, he felt himself panicking. His spark was just pounding in his chest as if he was about to be chained up once more and taken again and again until Optimus’ cum filled him so much that he howled in agony because there was no more room, the cum seeping out of his valve whenever that tool was removed only to have it plunge back in a few minutes later, rock hard.

And yet, his pride wouldn’t let him leave, to run away sobbing and in pain and sick with himself. He wouldn’t even allow himself to lose the medical grade that had probably drip fed into his tank. Instead, legs shaking he came forward and from his subspace he pulled out a cleaner with an high acidic content, careful to get none on his paint as he spread it over the floor.

He knew it could peel his paint job. That much was for sure.

And yet, even after he found a water spout and drowned the floor in water and cleaner, the floor looking far too clean and out of place, he found himself on his hands and knees with a rag just rubbing the concrete desperately as he choked in the back of his throat, optic fluid dripping from his optics though he did his best to remain quiet. Even though, with each desperate swipe to remove any clue of Optimus’ nanites, it felt like re-penetration in his valve. This was hell, paint was being peeled off his fingers and knees, and yet he just had to do this … he had to erase this.

And so, nearly a breakdown later, his paint looking faded around his knees and hands, Sentinel found himself shakily walking down the subway again.

If felt like he had been raped all over again. He was even sure that he was sloshing beneath his cod piece. And he didn’t even want to think of that, but he had to do it before Ratchet tried to make good on his threat… so where should it be done? It was probably best to stay away from Steelhaven until after the act was done, but then again he knew that Jazz liked being valve fucked from time to time and apparently there was a moving shower head that could clean up there perfectly.

He didn’t know much about cleaning that interface equipment but … he didn’t want to do it inaccurately and get an infection.

Swallowing, stepping into the dull evening light, he shivered and made up his mind. He needed to get back on the ship and clean himself properly. He wasn’t as quick footed as Jazz or the twins but he knew the ship better then Ratchet and the medic probably kept to the medical bay anyway or his Earth base.

Nodding, he took a quick step forward ready to transform with the momentum, but the next thing he knew, his spark slammed  painfully in the chassis. But at least that’s what it felt like, his transformation clog seizing up and putting him on his knees… his tank coming up a moment later, spewing warm energon.

And for a moment he just stayed there panting, hating Optimus and Soundwave in a way he had never known before. A rage so deep that it must have been what drove the Cons in their trials and he might have taken time to be disgusted that he had any like qualities to a Con when a small hand came up on his shoulder.

The touch made him jump and he was on his feet with his sky-boom shield under Prowl’s chin. For a minute Prowl was still, swallowing, staring and completely silent until he asked softly, “Would you mind removing your shield from my throat? I rather like my head where it is.”

Optics wide, as if noticing how jumpy he was since the incident, Sentinel pulled the shield down and looked around as if confused. His system had gone into full defend mode. That was strange… he had never gone into that mode before, unless he was under a really stressful training campaign.

It had been a long time.

Slowly putting his shield away, he grumbled, “Best to announce yourself next time, repair-bot. I could have taken your head off.”

Offering no signs of recognition, Prowl looked around them and asked, “What are you doing out here? Ratchet has been looking for you for almost a groon and from the looks of where your last meal went … perhaps we should have been looking harder.”

Glaring, hating someone’s attention on him, he murmured, “I am fine.”

Merely stared at the other, Sentinel hating that the other had a visor on, before the ninja mech nodded, “Then let’s get back to base. If you are fine, I’m sure you will be able to drive without any need for assistance.”

Lip twitching, knowing all too well that though Prowl was small … a ninja-bot was crafty. It was best not to piss him off. It would be better to merely let the smaller mech believe he had an ounce of control in this situation if only to get rid of any suspicion from his head… and why he was out here in the middle of nowhere.

Huffing, pretending to be irritated, he carefully transformed this time, playing extra mind to each piece of sliding metal only to end up bouncing on his tires. He then roared his engine paying no mind to the bike as he pulled into traffic… though the yellow form was soon next to him, a holo-form on his back.

The truck twitched at the fake officer.

“You look ridiculous … with that holo-gram on your back,” said Sentinel with a growl. “Even if it is a fake organic … Ugh.”

Prowl, who was silent for a few minute, spoke back as calmly as ever, “Sentinel… I’m sure your hate for organics seems completely logical to you, but as an Autobot you should also mind that you believe in the freedom of sentient beings.”

Prowl’s next words bit deep as he continued, “And humans are that. In fact… they are so much like us. They get hungry, just like us. They get upset and weep, just like us. They have hopes and fears and dreams just like us. They even carry their young … like we can.”

Sentinel almost slammed into the other, sickness and horror and the makeshift memory of Eltia being devoured by spiders made him all but scream his next words.

“All I know is that an organic will kill you the first chance it gets! They rip up your loved ones like they are little more than spare parts! Organics are filthy … now get out of my way!” barked Sentinel as he pulled ahead, engine roaring as he nearly cause Prowl to fishtail. The whole episode turning into a chase of sorts until Sentinel surprisingly took a turn towards his ship, sliding to a halt in front of Steelhaven, dusk rolling up like a ghostly cloud.

Transforming for all to see, Sentinel’s rage was so engrossed and bared and hurt that Prowl had to stall and Sentinel almost didn’t notice Ratchet … freezing for a moment as the medic walked down the walkway with the little femme at his side, the older mech looking brazen as the femme’s optics flickered in irritation.

“That was low Ratchet, with the welding torture, scaring open my battle mask. I know everything is supposed to be under my control after the upgrade but … I can’t even transform back yet,” whispered the girl in irritation. “I just want to keep my mask on so I don’t … freak people out.”

“You mean Sentinel … speaking of which,” the medic, as if on instinct he turned his head as Prowl walked up next to the tired looking Prime, “Where the slag have you been! I heard that you’ve been ill.”

Sentinel immediately glared down at Prowl, said mech giving no indication he noticed the glare.

“Sentinel was ill again?”

Optic twitching, Sentinel then turned his attention to the other Prime, worry written all over Optimus’ face as the fire-truck asked the blue Prime directly, “Why did you even leave the ship at all, Sentinel? You are not well, Sentinel.”

The snow-truck twitched and was about to bark at the medic that it was none of his business when suddenly Optimus came forward and entered Sentinel’s bubble. His armor crawl just and his spark ache ached from being in proximity of the other. Part of him just wanted to yell and strike out at the other but … he had to hide the truth and yelling at someone that they raped you was no way to do that.

Taking in a shaking breath, hating the way everyone was staring at him as well as the strange femme. He bit his tongue. He had to act like himself. He had to be strong and commanding.

A leader.

Baring his teeth, his sensors trying to ignore Optimus proximity, Sentinel deiced to take at least a little of his rage out on the other though, “Perhaps if you would have had a decent report around, I wouldn’t have to look for the answers! Now, make me a proper one instead of your medic’s idiotic banter!”

Worry melting away, Optimus continued not even detoured by the other’s biting tone, “Perhaps if you would have asked me instead of just running off.”

“I didn’t run off! I…”

His tank twitched. He was feeling sick again … just from being near Optimus. The violence was bringing back flashes and pain and shame and … he was going to purge his tank again.  

He needed to get inside before …

Immediately he grabbed for his midsection, tank churning and flipping and causing his optics to start to water. He could taste energon rising in his throat tubing. Optimus was unimportant. The femme was unimportant. Everyone was unimportant! He had to keep his pride. He had to hide the fact that the kind golden sparked Optimus Prime had defiled him, dirtied him, spilled his fluids into his insides and pressed their spark glasses together.

Turning, noting that Optimus had stalled and was now staring at him with a worried expression, Sentinel ignored Sari and Ratchet and found himself walking toward Steelhaven while pressing a hand over his mouth.

He wanted off this planet as quickly as possible. Right now! He didn’t care about organics or space bridges  or Cons or even the All Spark’s status right now. H-he just knew he had to get away from Optimus. He had to get away from him and the spark that had intertwined with his… remembering him.

He could feel his spark tugging for the other, wanting some comfort for his pain.

Servos shaking, bottom lip shivering, he tripped into the cargo bay with Ratchet sharing a look with Optimus, both looking worried.

Not that Sentinel saw that. He merely tripped farther into the innards of his ship and into the shadows of his door, shivering as he wrapped one of his arms around himself as he fumbled with the door controls.  

With a shaking servo, he managed to get his door open just as a jogging Optimus came around the corner to see him heading into his room. Then, Optimus’ voice driving him to his shower, Sentinel tripped into his cleaning station and manager to turn on the cleaner fluid before he lost his tank’s contents again.

And, even with Optimus pounding on his door, he tried to keep on a brave face even as he took a few moments to bury his face in his hands and allowed a few feeble and frightened sobs to escape him before he pushed all those fears back under the surface.

He needed to be strong.

His strength was all he had.

It drove him forward though just like it had to do now … he had to clean himself but at the same time he couldn’t even spread his legs to take his cod piece off, even when he heard Jazz override the lock in his room with his medical code no doubt.

He nearly jumped out of his armor when Jazz’s voice slammed into his warm watered solitude, “Yo, SP… Are you okay? Ratchet and Optimus said you stumbled in here. You okay?”

Taking in a deep vent, warm cleaner solution dripping down his frame, he yelled back, “Y-yeah. I just got dizzy and the warm cleaner helps plus … in case I lose my tank again. I-I don’t want to make a mess.”

A tired sigh coming across the way, a shadow moving under the door, Jazz replied, “I got yah, SP … but if you aren’t out in a groon, I’m helping Ratchet pull you out, kay?”

Hand still shaking too much to even think of touching his cod piece, Sentinel took the few extra minutes as an opportunity as he replied, “Alright Jazz … J-just let me clean up.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep… Ratchet was an inch from the truth. But just an inch can mean the world. Will Ratchet tell Optimus of his suspicions? Will he lie? Will Sentinel bare the truth to anyone? How can a Heavy mech even rule? Will it hurt he sparkling … You’ll just have to wait though feel free to guess. XD


	4. Far Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Sentinel’s groon was coming to end and he had barely finished crying yet.

He turned off his vocals and that was probably the only reason Jazz hadn’t opened the door and asked why he looked like a sorry sod… for that was what he looked like. He had barely even gotten his cod piece off before he started sobbing like a broken sparked femme, fingers shaking so badly that he could no longer feel them. But this had to be done.

He had so many dreams and promises to himself and... Elita to uphold like a heavy promise stamped in stone; he had to continue onward. So, it was with shaking hands that he took some cleaner into hand, mild for those inner mechanics, and a hose like device he rarely used. In truth, a mech or femme really didn’t have to clean out their valve given the fluid was used for sparkling development and could also be absorbed by the body given time, but such thoughts were … sickening to say the least.

He wanted it out of him.

Or at least cleaned to the point that Ratchet wouldn’t notice. Not that he had any plans of Ratchet looking down there with his old, creepy fingers. The very thought of Ratchet anywhere near his valve made his armor crawl. In fact, anyone’s fingers down there made his circuits creep. But, given that Ratchet asked for only his spark … he might just be able to get away with it.

A few days after interfacing there were no signs the deed had happened.

Right?

Frag, he didn’t know. He’d look into the mirror before he left because fighting Ratchet would not work. As a medic… he did have pull. And clearing a bill of health was one of the powers Ratchet had over Sentinel and the Prime had no wants to dirty his history and rune his chance to be Magnus over a stupid exam.

And he had to become Magnus.

All this suffering and heartbrokenness and never ending sorrow would be for naught if he didn’t at least become Magnus.

And so, with shivering hands, he took the cleaning hose and placed it between his legs… the water was warm and though he felt stretched and sore it was no unpleasant having warm water cleaning away his sin. That is until he heard Optimus whispering in his audio, soft touches on his back. He felt sick … all over again. And might have balled into himself and denied it all again, but he had to clean his chamber as well in case there were any rubbing stains or scorch markings. So, scrubbing cloth in hand as he closed his thighs to keep the hose in place, he opened his chassis and with a quick hand rubbed the front of his glass.

He twitched, electricity dancing over his fingertips like static. He might have even scratched his casing when there was a sudden voice outside his bathroom door.

“Yo, SP? You done yet? You drownin’ in there?” came Jazz’s vocals.

Dropping the cleaner, suds flowing down the drain, Sentinel looked at the door and choked, “Yeah… just finishing up.”

He watched the shadow shift below the door, like a monster wanting to clamber under and rip his soul to shreds. Hands shaking, he forgot the cleaner and pulled the hose out of himself, nearly dropping it as it sprayed warm water all over his face. Turning his head, blindly reaching around for the off valve, he tried to calm himself. After fumbling for a moment or two, he finally got it off and his hands blindly looked for a rag so he could wipe the tip of the hose off in case there was anything on it.

“Okay, SP. Well… Ratchet’s bittin’ at the bit. Let’s get you out of there…” said the other Elite, behind the door, continuing, “Finish up, I’ll get some buffer towels to dry you off.”

Hands fumbling for his cod piece, a rag rubbing over his sensitive equipment to partially dry it as well as he could, he clicked on his cod piece and shut his spark chamber just as the shower door slid open. Jazz’s optic’s went wide and Sentinel noticed how pathetic he must have looked sitting on the shower floor, shaking and half cover in cleaner solution still.

Jazz’s Autobot programming did not disappoint. Getting down on one knee, a show of compassion from his fellow soldier, Jazz carefully touched his shoulder and then almost gingerly touched the side of his cheek, rubbing his ear fin in what was meant to be a comforting touch. Surprisingly, Sentinel found himself leaning into the careful touch… the soft expression reminding him so much of Elita. It was kind and daring but never to forward until she thought it was time, an expression of kinship and trust.

The ninja-bot’s words were soft, careful of tone and accent, “Sentinel… What happened to you down there?”

Optic’s going offline, Sentinel realizing for the first time in a long time, how long it had been since someone touched him. He had a few one night stands after Elita but they did not compare to the affectionate touch of some-bot that cared about you. That thought alone made his vents hiccup in distress and he tried to keep it to himself, to keep those painful words so deep and buried and forgotten by everyone and everything but his inner ghost, but the words fled his vocals and over his throat and out of his mouth regardless.

“Terrible things… Soundwave t-tortured me in unusual ways. He r-ripped me into so many little pieces and despite how many times and begged Optimus to stop and help me… he couldn’t hear me,” choked Sentinel, hands coming forward as he pulled himself into the slightly smaller being’s chassis, burying his face like a sparkling.

He couldn’t stop the blubbering after that, his spark so weak and tortured and desperate for even a semblance of warmth and caring. Jazz, for the most part, was only shocked for a moment or two before he wrapped his arms around the other and murmured, “Hey, hey, it’s okay, SP. Your training kept you alive … the mental anguish. It happens, but I’m here with you. Okay… Everything will be okay.”

Pulling the other closer, wondering what Soundwave had done and what he meant by tortured in unusual ways, Jazz whispered in the other’s audio, “It’s okay SP. You survived him like you will survive this.”

Pressing his lips against the other’s forehead, a show of comfort common in femmes and Caretakers, Jazz pulled the other closer and allowed Sentinel’s hands to grasp desperately at him. The whole time, a metal break on the way, all Jazz could think of was what Soundwave must had done in order to deserve his helm smashed in so violently.

And if Soundwave actually did deserved it.

…

It had taken nearly half a groon to get Sentinel to calm down, to have him stop his whispers of ‘Please Stop’ and ‘Why’ and so many other vague vocal shiverings that Jazz couldn’t even start to dissect what had happened in the deep catacombs of that subway station.

All he knew was that Soundwave had wronged the other in some atrocious way and that Optimus had watched.

Taking the initiative, Jazz had made his own medical decision and put Sentinel to bed, the large mech stumbling the whole way to his berth. Jazz was near tears himself behind his visor when he finally managed to plug Sentinel into his berth and convince him to shut down, the large mech curling into himself.

Jazz felt like his spark casing had cracks in it.

Sentinel could be a pain in the aft, there was no denying that, but Jazz was still older than him and was only under Sentinel only because Sentinel had more drive then Jazz. Jazz knew where he was carefree, SP had in turn memorized every law and regulation in the book. He was a good bot. He tried his hardest and he had earned his current position… but he sometimes hid how young he was with his commanding voice and accomplishments.

So easily tarnished.

Sighing as he dimmed the lights to five percent, a soft glow, he left Sentinel’s room and headed to the medical bay to speak to the higher ranking healer in their group of makeshift heroes. He almost twitched when Ratchet growled, “I heard he was taking a cleansing shower… I would have rather he not have, Jazz.”

Then, turning around, holding a tool that looked like a spark scanner, Ratchet gained an irritated glare and asked in a gruff tone, “Where is he? He better not be buffing himself. I have better things to do with my time.”

Shaking his head, hands behind his back as he took a very professional stance, Jazz replied, “Sorry, Hatchet … SP needs his rest. Poor guy must of had a flashback or something in the shower... He was in a sorry state. I put him down to rest his optics.”

Ratchet, who was frowning even more now, gained a worried expression as he stared down at a hand-held scanner as if it were whispering something to him, but he was quick to look up again and murmur, “I see… did he say anything about what happened or what triggered his reaction. Some young-bots take … torture … better than others.”

Jazz sighed and found himself staring at his feet for a moment. He really didn’t want to talk about this or think of how SP had been hanging there in chains apparently, Soundwave tormenting the other with sonic frequencies and frag knows what else. It made his spark ache. He would have been better suited for capture than SP. He was older and with his ninja-bot training, he would have had better barricades then SP. SP had great firewalls, that much was true, but despite losing Elita he had no real hardships.

He didn’t know pain.

Shrugging, the ninja-bot croaked, “Not much except it was unusual tortures and that … Optimus watched.”

Lips pulling in a snarl, Ratchet barked, “Optimus is too good of a mech to just watch. Sentinel and him might have a rift right now, but they were friends. He wouldn’t allow that to happen to him.”

Putting his hands up in defense, Jazz tried to calm the situation, “Whoa, whoa … cool you jets, Ratch. I meant no offense and by watch I’m sure Sentinel meant when Optimus was zombie-fied.”

Groaning in frustration, Ratchet nodded as he reached up and rubbed his hand over his optics, grumbling, “Yes, that makes the most sense… anything else?”

“Nothing coherent, just for it to _stop_. The sonics I’m guessing,” replied the race car.

“Well, how long will he be out?” said Ratchet as he turned to the berth he was prepping for the spark examination, placing his scanner down. A part of him wondered if he should perhaps go check on Optimus’ spark instead. The kid had been a little twitchy recently.

Jazz shrugged his shoulders and murmured, “Whenever he wakes up. Might be a few groons, might be two mega-cycles. I don’t want to wake him.”

Nodding, the medic grumbled, “I understand. I’m going to hunt down Optimus for a checkup. Mind if I take some supplies?”

Shaking his head, Jazz murmured, “Not in the least … Take what you need. Never know when we might have to rush out of here and I want you guy’s well stocked.”

…

For some unknown reason Optimus’ spark ached, shivered in its casing, filled with shame and sorrow and want.  It had been that way for the few Mega-cycles since the … subway incident. He didn’t know what to make of it. Part of him was paranoid that perhaps this was a reaction to what had happened there.

Was there something his spark knew that his mind could not recall?

Probably, but what could have happened that made him this ashamed?

Maybe Sentinel could tell him, once he got out of his funk. The poor bot looked terrible like he was about to lose his energon. Optimus would admit he was a little upset that Sentinel had locked the door. He would have gladly rubbed the other’s back as he lost the contents of his tank. It wouldn’t have been the first time Optimus would have comforted Sentinel when he was sick, but this wasn’t the academy days anymore, was it?

Rubbing his chassis again as it gave a demanding throb, he nearly jumped out of his armor when an old cranky voice echoed behind him, “What’s wrong? Bad fuel?”

Shaking his head, the pain pinching even more as he thought of Sentinel, Optimus grumbled, “My spark hurts… Nothing terrible but it is pinching.”

Gaining a frown, a part of him now wondering if Optimus had befell the same worried fate as Sentinel, the medic grabbed the younger bot by his elbow and tugged him out of the control room of their base, “Come with me young-bot. I looked over you after what happened in the subway but I could have missed something.”

Pouty lips, frowning brow raised as he allowed Ratchet to drag him into their medical bay, Optimus added, “Well… how do you know its from then? I don’t know if you remember how that battle over the space bridge went, but I was thrown around quite a lot.”

Turning to glare at the other, the two of them now in Ratchet’s makeshift medical bay, the healer grumbled, “Kid… just get on the table.”

Looking at the makeshift berth, metal from the old equipment in the warehouse, Optimus took a seat, rubbing his chassis again. It wasn’t a terrible pain per say, but his spark was now just thrashing in its casing and for some reason it was upset and was telling him he should be upset as well.

Though he had no idea why… it was like after he had woken in the subway, a depressing truth he could not know.

He wished he could have had a decent conversation with Sentinel to at least gain a semblance of what happened down there, but he was probably berth bound right now. Not that he wouldn’t find out one way or the other. Sentinel had always been impeccable about documentation. Sooner or later he would get a hold of that document and then he perhaps could create some makeshift memories from it if he didn’t remember all together. But that was a worry for another time, Ratchet was signaling for him to tilt his head so the medic could plug him into the handheld medical computer. It wasn’t as powerful as the one on their _ship_ …

_No, not just a ship._

_Omega Supreme…_

Ratchet looked so sad with the loss of Omega and in this stillness, the silence eating at his armor like rust and rage, Optimus was about to open his mouth and allow some words of warmth into the room when Ratchet reached up and clicked the medical computer into place, grumbling, “Let’s open your chassis. I want to see that spark of yours.”

Rearing back, hating these type of examinations, he looked around blushing as he slowly unlatched his chassis … giving Ratchet a kicked puppy kind of look before his chassis slid open. It was a golden light, warm and kind and life giving almost as if Primus had pinched a bit of a sun and captured it in a glass casing. It still made Ratchet’s vents pause for a moment every time he saw that golden spark.

Mechs or femmes with golden sparks were promised great fates… and honor and greatness to all they touched.

And right now, though the spark was as brilliant as a sun drop, it was pained and heartbroken, thrashing in its case as if calling out for another. Frowning, wondering what could upset Optimus so much while at the same time he kept a calm visage, Ratchet asked, “What’s wrong, Optimus? Are you upset about something?”

Frowning, slowly he titled his gaze as best as he could toward his chassis. He couldn’t see his spark, of course, but he could see the light reflecting off of Ratchet’s armor and it was erratic. Gaining a worried expression, he murmured, “Well, I’m not upset… Well, I don’t think so. I can’t think of why I would be so upset that my spark would do that… though my spark has been sending distressed pings since … the subway incident.”

Optics going wide with worry, the youth dryly whispered, “You don’t think Soundwave did something to it, do you?”

Shaking his head, pulling a cleansing rag out of his subspace, the healer quickly cleaned his hands of any traces of oil or grit while he calmed the other, “Don’t fry your circuits, kid. Let me have a good look. Now, this might be a little uncomfortable but I’m going to feel your spark chamber for any devices or cracks, okay?”

“W-what,” choked Optimus, not having ever had an exam like that before, femmes were generally the only ones having exams like those regularly given their sparks density.

Giving Optimus a look, he murmured, “Everyone gets exams like these from time to time, especially if you get a sparkmate and start trying to procreate.”

Trying to put on a grim smile, Optimus chuckled lowly, “What are you saying? That I’m going to be the carrier.”

Smiling boldly, Ratchet murmured, “I don’t see you being the pitcher in a sexual relationship. Not with those hips and that pouty face.”

Frowning, the truck grumbled, “I don’t have a porn face.”

Ratchet, the seriousness of this exam fading away, snorted before throwing his head back in a wailing laugh, “I never said you did.”

Rolling his eyes, Optimus sighed, “That was a nickname Sentinel and Elita used to call me … and don’t ever say that in front of Bumblebee or Bulkhead. Or better yet, not in front of anyone.”

Nodding, reaching his hands towards the spark he grumbled, “Come now. Let’s be serious. This might tingle but it shouldn’t hurt and if you start getting aroused. Well, tell me.”

Slouching, Optimus thought this was ridiculous. He had never shared his spark with anyone, saving his spark for only those he loved the most. Regardless, Optimus nodded as those old hands reached for that tear drop of the sun. The spark pulled back at first as if scared and then as Ratchet touched the glass, that golden orb pressed outward as if trying to touch back.

Optimus’ vents shivered at first and told himself not to cry out or moan because it was already soothing away some of the soreness as if the spark had just been looking for the touch of another. He told his vocals not to dare make him whimper especially with Ratchet touching him in such a clinical manner so it wouldn’t be stimulated.

Shoulders tighting, Ratchet feeling around the spark and all the wires attached to it, Optimus decided to start and speak his mind as he generally did when alone with the old mech, his voice struggling to remain steady, “I’ve been having a lot of weird thoughts lately, because of my spark. It’s like it wants something and when I think of it, I think of Sentinel. And Ratchet … I worry that Sentinel left some major details out.”

Ratchet, getting a sinking feeling as he continued to exam that golden spark chamber for any scratches or unknown devices, nodded and murmured, “Well, he hasn’t been very coherent since the attack so there is probably a lot he hasn’t said to us. But … why do you think that? He’s always been very good with his reports I hear … so we’ll probably get all the gory details later.”

Shaking his head, wincing at the rawness of his spark, Optimus murmured, “Well, I still don’t think he’s going to tell us everything. My spark just knows it.”

Hands going still, Ratchet watched the spark’s movement for a moment. The spark was trying to touch back at his old hands. That was not uncommon for a spark but Optimus’ was now a little stand offish more so now then a few moments earlier as if it was  looking for someone specific? Looking the other in the optic, one hand pulling out as it grabbed for a spark scanner, Ratchet asked, “Why would he do that? That boy is all regulations.”

 Hands balling up and then releasing themselves, his optics became pinched with worry, Optimus murmured, “Well … I discovered something while in was cleansing myself.”

Pausing, noting that Optimus was really starting to look upset, Ratchet stilled his hand so he wasn’t agitating the spark as he asked, “What do you mean?”

Sighing, blush on his cheeks he whispered, “There wasn’t a lot but there were nanties, dried ones, on my spike. I-I haven’t touched myself that way in a long time Ratchet … it shouldn’t have been there.”

Listening intently, trying not to panic, sickness was forming in Ratchet’s tank as a worst case scenario formed in the elder mech’s helm. What if Sentinel hadn’t been the only one molest or rape or touched? It would explain why Sentinel didn’t want to be examined and why his emotional programs took so long to repair themselves and … the recent breakdown.

Hand covering up his mouth, Ratchet tried to look like he was thinking instead of worrying even though his optics were getting even wider and wider in horror. Ratchet almost jumped when Optimus whispered, “What’s wrong, Ratchet? Is there something wrong … with my spark?”

Turning his gaze to the youth, finding it impossible to be able to tell Optimus of his suspicions in case they weren’t true, Ratchet murmured, “No, nothing’s wrong… I-I just need to call Steelhaven. I need Jazz to bring me some more equipment.”

Frowning, not liking the way Ratchet’s hands were shaking, Optimus asked, “Did you forget something important and what of … of my spark pains?”

Part of him wanted to tell the mech of his suspicions, but what if it wasn’t true? Yet again, what if Soundwave had tortured them both with some kind of spark touching and Sentinel was just trying to spare himself and Optimus any shame? Sentinel hadn’t yet hinted at molestation. Then again, Sentinel was a proud mech and despite Optimus and their falling out, he probably still had a small kinship towards Optimus … enough to want to protect him… and himself. Sentinel was a pain in the aft, but he was still an Autobot.

Molesting would explain why there was cum under Optimus’ cod. With no emotional circuits, he might have become aroused automatically and had pre-cum under his cod. It also explained why Jazz said the other mech had murmured that Optimus had just watched.

Then again, Jazz said Sentinel had also whispered it was cruel and unusual torture and for it to stop.

 _Stop_ …

A shudder ran up Ratchet’s spinal column as a darker theory prodded at his mind. What if, Optimus apparently coming… what if Sentinel had been taken by a controlled Optimus?

An overload would cause the short out to the device on Optimus’ helm.

A forced taking would explain the care Sentinel’s long recharge had procured, his systems trying to fix the emotional circuits and interfacing programs.

And there were also nanites under Optimus’ cod piece.

Rape victims had the desperate need to clean themselves and Sentinel had been in the cleanser for over a groon.

Nearly dropping the scanner, Ratchet decided then and there that Sentinel needed to be properly examined. He needed his carrying chamber properly cared for and his spark checked for any … latch-ons. Sparklings. Sentinel was young and though they were probably both sexually active, a plug could have slipped or peta-flesh could have ripped and that was something that needed to be assessed as well as emotional support. Ratchet had no delusions that Sentinel would ask for a hug and a shoulder to cry on, he was too proud, but he would probably needed someone to talk to in the long run.

Someone to call late at night when he couldn’t recharge.

Ratchet had seen it all too often and sometimes, at least before Earth, he would still get a call from an old bot that had nightmares from the war.

Trying to keep his hands from shaking, the thought of Optimus raping Sentinel making his spark shrink back, he smiled sadly at Optimus and murmured, “Well, let me check these reading over but I don’t see anything immediate. I don’t know for sure and right now I really need to check on Sentinel.”

Rubbing his chassis, Optimus nodded, “Yeah, I’m worried about him as well.”

Unfortunately for the two of them though, at that very moment Jazz had opened a communication, Alpha Trion frowning on the other side. Jazz immediately saluted the other even if he wasn’t technically considered part of the military line and was more of a political leader.

“Sir, what is the honor of this call?”

Optics looking tired, the old mech spoke softly, “Ultra Magnus has been attacked. We need your team and Sentinel Prime back as soon as possible … especially since we don’t know if Magnus will make the night. He is in serious condition.”

Swallowing, Jazz nodded as he spoke, knowing that Sentinel had to heal another day, “Understood sir. We will be leaving within the groon, but may I ask to be debriefed… What happened?”

Shaking his head, the elder murmured, “We need a secure line for a full debriefing… there has been a break in rank. That is all I can say. And where is Sentinel Prime? I need to speak to him as well.”

Not even twitching, Jazz murmured, “He is currently detained. I can take any message he may need.”

Still stock still, the old mech nodded and added, “Tell him to be prepared to enter temporary office as acting Magnus when he gets to Cybertron and to leave as soon as possible. If Optimus and his team need immediate assistance you can leave the twins. That is all.”

And then the screen went black and Jazz couldn’t help the sickness that was forming in his tanks. Sentinel just had a breakdown… how could he being Magnus, even if it was just temporary? Turning his gaze in the direction of Sentinel’s quarters, the ninja-bot sighed. They were Elites. It was their job to forget their feelings.

Sentinel would just have to be strong.

Being Magnus was his dream after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grammar edits January 2013.


	5. Bad Judgment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Ratchet had just finished up on Optimus’ exam about a groon and a half ago, going over the youth’s readings as he readied himself mentally for what did not promise to be a great experience. Even if he was wrong, pressing his hands against Sentinel’s spark did not sound like an exciting venture, especially since he knew that Sentinel would not be the most willing participant.

Feeling old and worn, he turned away from the readings he had been staring at. He had distracted himself long enough and it was now time to get some answers. It was time to see what he knew was already there. If it wasn’t rape, it was something damn close.

Sighing, his old spark feeling hollow and empty, Ratchet sub-spaced a spark scanner and a few other favorite tools as well as a rape-kit. He would need to do a swabbing if Sentinel hadn’t washed all the evidence away, which was unlikely because the carrying tank had a way of holding onto _things_ and leaving _evidence_.

Evidence …

The old mech stalled at the thought. Sentinel was a mech of regulations and evidence. It wouldn’t hurt to have something more than a hunch to go on as a reason to make someone take a rape kit. Besides, it would probably be best to have some additional proof that didn’t depend on rooting around in someone’s reproductive chamber. He really didn’t want to go down into the undergrounds of the city, but he also didn’t want to send someone like Prowl or Bumblebee down there to gather evidence. Bumblebee might not realize what Ratchet was looking for but Prowl certainly would … It was best if he went himself. He didn’t need his suspicions passing on to anyone else.

Grumbling as he made his way back to the subways through a dark maze of old and refurbished railway tracks, the medic headed to where he had gathered Soundwave’s body mega-cycles ago. The medic, so entranced with not tripping on something in the dark, did not notice a shadow following him as he made his way towards the torture room that Optimus had led him to. That day when he had seen the chains and the energon and oil splattered everywhere had been harrowing as he gathered Soundwave’s body, but now he regretted not really looking at the torture room when he had been down there.

Pulling up the map he had kept for the report, he stalled before crossing the threshold into the room. It was a dark and haunting place, the chains twitching from an unknown source and water dripping from an unknown leak. It was truthfully rather frightening and with his headlights being the only illumination in the room, Ratchet was sure something was watching him. He could almost hear a haunting staticy ring in the room as if Soundwave’s soul was still around.

The healer quickly shook his head as fear started to impregnate his soul, telling himself there was nothing here. There was no angry Decepticon soul denied a spark to carry him to Primus.

There was just … cleaner. It smelled of cleaner.

The medic automatically frowned and headed over to where he remembered the chains being, the heavy metal swinging probably from a draft. He immediately noticed that the chains were clean. There should at least be energon from Sentinel’s wrists. He remembered cleaning the joints and covering them in healing nanites. He even remembered thinking how it was good practice for when Sari’s key stopped working … because it would.

Now that was another troubling circumstance he really didn’t have time for.

Truthfully, he hadn’t had the spark to tell her yet. With each upgrade, for the key would have acted of its own sooner or later, she would become more and more Cybertronian according to the data he gather with Steelhaven’s medical computers. She would always be a techno-organic so she probably would never have a true alt form thought he suspected that there were pros and cons to that because the Allspark would want her highly functioning with each upgrade. It would also probably become apparent over time what Sari’s true purpose was supposed to be for the Allspark rarely created anything on accident.

Regardless, her key could not fix everything anyway. She could not sooth away the pains and traumas of the spark.

And apparently he would be having difficulty as well. It seemed that the floors had been scrubbed clean as well. In fact, if the place wasn’t so deplorable already, he would say that the torture room almost seemed clean though the smell of cleaner was a little overwhelming.

So it was obvious that someone had cleaned away the evidence. Was it Optimus? Unlikely, this was done recently and Prime was a good bot. He would have been blubbering to Ratchet if he remembered doing something so unspeakable. But mostly he did not think Optimus would have had the opportunity to clean the room recently … Because some places were still wet. And the only mech with a reason to clean this so recently was the mech that had just woken up … Sentinel Prime.

Sighing, his head lights dancing over the cleaned crime-scene, the healer’s shoulders sagged.

Sentinel … was a proud mech, but Ratchet was a determined mech. Bleaching a stain did not make the deed undone.

Turning towards the exit, Ratchet actually screamed when he noticed a mech was standing in the room entrance … optics aglow as they just watching him. And for a paranoid moment he almost thought it was Soundwave’s ghost … until the mech turned on his own headlights, murmuring, “Ratchet … what are you doing down here?”

Placing a hand over his chassis, spark having skipped a beat, Ratchet released a vent of air and glared at the ninja-bot.

“Primus, Prowl … I’m an old bot. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” grumbled the medic as the frowned at the stoic Autobot.

Silent for a moment, his expression impartial, the motorcycle replied, “I did not mean to frighten you, but I couldn’t help but wonder … what brought you down here?”

Frowning, not wanting to incriminate either Sentinel or Optimus, the medic put on his grumpy face. “Medic stuff. I was just looking for … uh… torture devices.”

Prowl started looking around, his head titling marginally from side to side until he was staring at the floor. His observation nearly made the medic twitch. “I can’t help but notice the lack of evidence, Ratchet. It is disquieting especially since the scene seems to be cleaned up.”

Ratchet’s lip twitched and he grunted, murmuring, “So it seems to be…”

“… You mean you did not do this?” questioned the ninja-bot. “Then who did this?”

Raising a brow, not wanting to give the crafty bot an idea of what was going on, he barked, “What do you want, young-bot?”

Frowning, knowing all too well that Ratchet was trying to distract him, the younger Autobot looked at Ratchet directly, his words soft, “Jazz was looking for you. He wanted to give you something … and I fear he had to resort to other methods.”

Shoulder’s sagging, his mind presuming the worst, he cursed and preyed something terrible hadn’t occurred, something on the lines of Sentinel snapping and having tried to kill Optimus. Despite himself, he had to ask, “Where are they?”

Probably still looking at the cleaned floors, the ninja-bot coolly replied, “Probably your medical bay.”

Prowl, watching Ratchet curse something under his breath as he transformed and raced away, remained where he was and turned his attention back to the room. He, unlike Ratchet, had time to question things like bleached floors.

…

Running through the halls a few cycles later, the healer slid into the doorway of his medical bay expecting to see a whimpering Prime, but instead he was nearly ran into. Yelping, the sound of pounding feet ringing in his audios, Ratchet scampered to get away. A few tons of Cybertronian metal was tripping his way and all Ratchet could do was bark in surprise as he struggled to stay out of the way, the green lug finally losing his balance completely as he went crashing to the floor. The medic, seeing the armful of stuff Bulkhead had been carrying, shielded his head as the pile of parts exploded everywhere. In fact, a few pieces of sheet metal nearly took off the old healer’s head as they slid into berths and the walls.

Only once the last bolt stopped rolling around on the floor did Ratchet rise up from his cover behind the medical berth.

“Bulkhead! What are you doing! Are you trying to finish me off!” barked the old mech.

Rubbing his head, a bashful look on his face, the green giant mumbled, “Well … I just … I didn’t … Well, Jazz wanted to make sure the medical bay was well stocked.”

Leaning over and picking up what looked like a canister of sleeping nanites, the healing mech grumbled, “Well did you have to bring it all in at once? You could have _not_ stock piled everything and tried to kill me-ah!”

“Out of the way!”

Ratchet barely had time to jump out of the way again as the yellow terror slid into the room as well, his battle mask down as his brakes squealed.

“Watch it! I’m old!” growled Ratchet as he watched Bumblebee place some more medical supplies in his medical bay, the medic getting twitchy because there were already _two_ too many mechs in his medical bay.

“Sorry Doc … Jazz-bot is in a hurry to get out of here,” said Bumblebee as he turned to Sari, the small femme slowly handing a few canisters of energon to the small bot so that he could put it on a higher shelf.

Walking over to see what Bumblebee had brought in as Bulkhead picked up items behind him, the medic stalled for a moment as he thought over the youth’s words. Giving Bumblebee and then Bulkhead a sharp look, the old bot almost yelled, “And where’s he goin’!”

Bumblebee, who was now sorting through the goods as if readying himself to call dibs, turned to the older mech and blinked. “Isn’t if obvious, old-bot. Steelhaven’s leaving. And if it wasn’t for Jazz and the twins, I would say good riddance.”

Ratchet nearly bulked, barking,” Why!”

Talking a step back, frowning, Bulkhead seemed to interrupt before Bumblebee could say the obvious, “Well, because they need to go to Cybertron.”

The medic twitched, growling, “But why! Why now! I haven’t cleared Sentinel.”

Frowning, it was Bumblebee’s turn to interupt, “I don’t know, Ratchet, but Jazz seemed upset when he asked for our help in pre-lift off prep work. If you want to know exactly why perhaps you should ask him? They haven’t left yet… I think.”

Sighing, notably irritated with everyone for not telling him what was going on outside of his medical bay, Ratchet turned back towards the exit. He tried to keep calm as he quickly jogged down the halls of their home though he knew all too well that he could easily lose Jazz. He just had to examine Sentinel.  

He needed to sooth away pains.

It was his responsibility and his honor as a medic.

Yet, as his frustration started to waiver, Ratchet almost halted in contemplation as he stood in the dim hall. Optimus was so good and kind and he didn’t deserve any kind of guilt and yet … and yet it wasn’t fair to deny Sentinel. The kid was just as innocent as Optimus if just a little more irritating. Okay, a lot more irritating, but he was a good kid. He tried to follow the rules and appease Ultra Magnus like a youngling trying to impress his sire.

Sentinel didn’t deserve to be wronged and forgotten either.

Closing his optics, hating himself for having to make hard decisions, Ratchet decided to remove some of the emotional connections he harbored and made a choice. His next steps were still moving forward in the direction of Steelhaven. He had to do this. He had a rape kit and he knew what words to rehearse and how to use his hands when touching a spark or interface equipment without harming the other.

But what if he was wrong?

What if he wasn’t?

Grumbling, the mech headed outdoors first to make sure the ship wasn’t actually gone. Stepping out into the sunlight, the warm rays reflecting off his chassis, the old mech sighed in relief when he saw the lot in the distance which still housed the hulking ship. The twins were flying about, checking external systems it seemed and Optimus was standing there as if trying to decide if he should enter the ship or not. Sighing, deciding that he better collect some information before he exploded, the medic jogged over to the young Prime, a part of him noting how a hand was on the youth’s chassis … rubbing back and forth.

“Didn’t even give me a warning they were getting ready to leave, the slaggers,” grumbled the mech. “Then again … Prowl did say Jazz was looking for me.”

“Yeah,” murmured Optimus as he dropped his hand. “Jazz just started prepping a groon or so ago. I asked him if I could speak to Sentinel before they left and why he wants to leave in such a rush, but Jazz said it wasn’t Sentinel’s decision … He’s still recharging.”

Ratchet nodded though he was slightly confused. He could see Sentinel wanting to rush off, but Jazz? Then, as if sick of staring at the gleaming mass of metal that was Steelhaven, he turned to the young bot and dead-panned, “I’m going to go yell at that young-bot. Go and see if Sentinel’s awake, would you?”

Optimus was about to nod but instead nearly balked when a stern grip grabbed his wrist, Ratchet looking the young-bot dead in the optic. “And that is all Optimus. I just want you to see if he is awake. If he is, let him be. If he isn’t, let him be. I just want to know if _I_ can speak to him yet.”

Frowning, confused as to why Ratchet’s grip was only tightening almost to the point of pain, Optimus slowly nodded, “Sure thing Ratchet … Can you please let go though?”

Optics widening as if he had finally realized he was starting to crush the younger bot’s wrist, Ratchet nodded, “Oh, yes… that would be fine. E-excuse me.”

…

Optimus knew that something was up with Ratchet as he rubbed his wrist and yet for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to worry about the medic’s odd behavior. Right now his spark was alight and it seemed happy at the prospected of seeing Sentinel. Why it felt that way, Optimus honestly had no idea but his spark hadn’t been the most reliable source of information lately either. The pit thing couldn’t decide what it wanted. One moment it was enraged and then sorrowful and ashamed and at the same time excited as if there was some future prospect and he … It was more confusing then dating femmes.

But that didn’t matter right now. All he knew right now was that he was standing before Sentinel’s door with his hand slowly moving towards the door control. And, depending on if the door opened for him or not, he knew that his spark would sway with enlightenment or complete and utter sorrow. He honestly had no idea why his spark would feel the way it was for Sentinel, but he honestly did not care. If it brought a moment of stillness to the rampaging spark … Optimus would be happy with that.

Surprisingly … the door slid open.

Spark skipping a beat, the darkness enduring even thought light was raining in from the hallway, Optimus allowed his optics to adjust to the dim lighting. He immediately found his sight drawn to a figure curled up on the berth, form curled inward and back to the wall. Sentinel seemed almost broken, the way he was curled in on himself like a sparkling, a hand wrapped protectively over his helm and around his abdomen plating. Yet, at the same time, the smooth release of his vents and the way the dim light reflected off his armor was enchanting.

 _Beautiful_.

Optimus could only blink in surprise at the thought.

Why had he thought that? Was it his spark’s influence?

Well, either way, Sentinel was still recharging so there was no point in waking him, and yet Optimus found he couldn’t leave the doorway. He couldn’t bid his limbs to head backwards and close the door. In fact, after a moment of internal battling, he found he couldn’t head towards Ratchet’s current location. Instead, he found himself taking soft steps forward as if afraid to wake the other yet still wanting to … to … touch him.

Hand outreached unknowingly, Optimus stalled again.

W-why was he thinking this way? Of Sentinel of all mechs? His spark was hammering in his chassis, that much was true, but why the sudden want and need?

Frowning, stilling his peds, Optimus could only determine that it must have been because of what they had gone through together in the subway underground. It was a protective streak, perhaps guilt?

Sighing, trying to ignore the pounding of his spark, he decided that since he was already standing here, he just as wells wake the other. Hand coming forward, Optimus gently grabbed Sentinel’s shoulder and shook him. “Sentinel. Sentinel? Wake up. Ratchet wants to talk to you.”

The blue Prime immediately stirred, a slow moan escaping him as he uncoiled somewhat and turned so that he was on his back, hand still protectively over his abdomen.

For a moment, Optimus could only sigh and look at the fool. He kind of looked cute when he wasn’t making a sound. In fact, he was … adorable with the way his helm antennae twitched ever so often and how he would whisper some half word. His lips were even half part as if he was going to kiss … kiss someone.

Swallowing, his spark suddenly hammering in his chassis, Optimus found he could not look away from those wondrous lips.

Those soft, metallic …

Optimus placed a hand on his chassis when a sudden thought slammed into the back of his helm, his spark agreeing.

_Kiss him._

The fire-truck almost took a step back in horror.

W-why would he think like that? He had never had any romantic inclinations towards the other Prime but now his head was swimming with such thoughts and there was a tingling under his chassis and around his seems and under … his cod piece.

Swallowing, a blush on his metallic cheeks, the Prime looked behind himself as if making sure the door was still closed and then back at the still sleeping Sentinel. The tingling in his chassis was growing and he was blushing even harder as he looked at Sentinel’s soft lips. H-he really wanted Sentinel.

He was asleep after all, right? He would never notice if Optimus … stole a kiss.

Swallowing again, the blush growing hotter, Optimus found himself next to the berth and then looking down at the other. His spark was beating so fast and the tingling under his cod piece was growing so hot and Sentinel’s lips looked so warm. He knew that they were. He didn’t know how he knew, but … but …

Leaning down the rest of the way, having not kissed someone in a long time, he almost forgot to pucker his lips before he leaned down. He then lingered only for a moment over Sentinel’s lips before pushed down the rest of the way and pressed his lips against the other’s.

It was meant to be a soft kiss, a lingering moment that he would keep to himself, but the kiss refused to release. Optimus soon found himself pressing down harder as Sentinel moved against the kiss in natural reaction. Optimus couldn’t help it after that, his hands moving to place themselves on top of Sentinel’s hand which was still laying on the other’s Prime’s abdomen as well as to support the blue mech’s neck.

His spark almost melted when Sentinel’s lips reacted, kissing back as a soft moan escaped the proud Prime. Optimus merely hummed back, his spark calming down somewhat as if revealed and yet at the same time it was hammering away as if something was coming …

Frag… w-was his equipment getting hard? B-but he was just kissing Sentinel. That was all … that was …

And then Sentinel’s optics came online.

Smack!!

Optimus, so caught up in his own thoughts and the growing problem beneath his cod piece, had not even noticed that Sentinel was coming out of recharge! Stuttering back, optics wide as he touched the side of his face where Sentinel had punched him, Optimus opened his mouth as he stuttered to speak.

“I-I-I don’t know what came over me? I’m sorry, I didn’t’ mean to-”

Sentinel, who was sitting up, a protective hand on his abdomen still, looked like he was about to cry as nearly yelled, “You remembered, didn’t you! You remembered you sick fuck and you-you want more, don’t you!”

Optimus, for his part, did not know what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I have been picking at this chapter forever. In the end I decided I hated the whole thing and decided to just rewrite the whole thing. Took bloody forever. Anyway, did some grammar repairs on the last chapters though. Later, enjoy the cliff hanger.


	6. Unfortunate Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year.

Ratchet’s peds clicked as he walked down the immaculately kept halls of the Steelhaven though he could start to see slight traces of dirt on the floors. Not entirely unexpected. While Sentinel had been out, Steelhaven had been used as a temporary base more so then their real base. After all, Jazz wanted them to have access to the best health care and sustenance. Ratchet would be sore to admit he was going to slightly miss it.

Though, with talk of building their own space bridge with the pieces Megatron left behind, Ratchet knew that they might soon be able to get to Cybertron whenever they needed. Unfortunately, Megatron had warped somewhere so thoughts of spacebridges could wait until another day after they found the warlord. But right now he had to find out why Jazz, of all mechs, was denying him the time he needed with Sentinel.

His trip finally coming to the end, the doors to the ship’s command center opened, and the medic watched as the ninja-bot typed away at the ship’s main control computer. Jazz seemed troubled and stressed with the way his lips kept twitching and how his door wings kept dripping downward as if irritated. The medic only observed this for a moment before the ninja-bot sighed and turned around.

“Sorry doc-bot, I know you wanted some time with Sentinel … but things came up.”

Ratchet, far too use to Prowl just _knowing_ he was there, pretended not to be annoyed by Jazz’s sudden reply as the mech continued with his typing. Instead, the ambulance walked the rest of the way into the room and stood before the ninja-bot, his face and form showing his obvious displeasure.

The healer’s words were almost foreboding. “You better have a good reason to try and take my patient away from me, young-bot.”

Sighing, looking worn and tired even though his optics were covered, Jazz murmured, “I’m sorry, doc-bot but I got a call from Alpha Trion himself. I had to start preparing for takeoff. No way around it, if you get me?”

Taken aback for a moment, knowing the severity of a situation if Alpha Trion had given a call, Ratchet asked, “What? Why? What happened? You don’t look like good news young-bot.”

Nodding, shoulder’s sagging, his voice was soft, “Ultra Magnus … was attacked.”

“WHAT!” barked Ratchet, a hand coming up to his chassis, a part of him regretting that Jazz hadn’t decided to drag out this conversation instead of just getting straight to the problem. “What happened? Is he okay! Did some of Megatron’s attack force get through the space bridge! What happened?”

“I don’t know. He was brief, probably for security reasons. All he said was that he needed Sentinel back as soon as possible to be a temporary replacement … if not permanent,” said Jazz in all seriousness as he turned to look Ratchet straight in the optic.

Ratchet, still a little over come with shock that their Magnus had been attacked, seemed to come back to himself somewhat. “So you are just leaving? Now! I haven’t even gotten to speak to Sentinel Prime yet! The medical computers might say he is stable but … something is wrong, Jazz. Something is _very_ wrong. I need at least enough time to examine him properly.”

The ninja-bot looked frustrated as he almost glared at the medic. “Really, Ratchet? I know he will need consoling but he was trained for this. And … what could you possibly need to examine? You and Prowl had time to polish him up because he was lying there so long in your medical lab. He is physically fine… Mentally, we can get someone for him to talk to. Either way … we have to go.”

Ratchet was shaking his head, somewhat distressed. “That is true … I did clean him up, meticulously looking for what could be the cause of his comatose state, but I … I didn’t exam one system. I need to make sure.”

Jazz, turning away from his computer completely, frowned and asked, “What system? I am technically this team’s field medic, Ratch. I can look into it, but we need to go.”

Stalling, knowing he could not answer that. The elder healer tried to think of what to say to lure the ninja-bot into his reasoning, but just then a scream and crash filled the halls.

It sounded like a struggle.

…

Optimus stood there, confusion dripping from his very limbs. His mouth was slightly ajar and he was trying to find the right thing to say but unfortunately there was only so much a mech could say to that. _Want more of what_? He had no idea what Sentinel had meant by that but he looked furious and scared and troubled and near tears.

What had he done?

Noting that Sentinel seemed to be looking for an answer that Optimus did not have, the fire truck struggled for something to say. All he could pronounce was. “I-I don’t understand. Want more of what? Remember what? I don’t understand. All I know is … that … I-I don’t know what came over me, Sentinel. I just had to kiss you.”

Still shivering, optics threatening to start leaking, Sentinel shook his head. “You are lying. Y-you just want to hurt me again.”

That… was like a slap in the face. His spark physically stung and where it had been excited moments ago was now reeling back into itself as if trying to make itself as small as possible inside its casing. It had been denied something and now it was ashamed and hurt. Optimus didn’t really know why it felt like that at all, but he had a feeling that he had a reason to be ashamed.

 _Hurt him? How had he hurt him_?

A blur of yellow pressed at the back of Optimus’ mind in a spark beat thought his spark did not seem to agree.

“… Elita? Is this about her? Sentinel … I never … it was an accident,” said Optimus softly and he looked at his old friend with a broken expression. “You and I both know that. I … It could have been avoided but ultimately it was an accident. I was punished for my mistakes. Please, she wouldn’t want you dwelling on her like this.”

Sentinel, for his part, seemed to snap out of whatever partial breakdown he had woken in, a mad grin slowly covering his face. He even started shaking his head as if in disbelief as the first tear pressed down against his cheek. He looked half mad before he curtly replied, “Salt on the wound … as an organic would say. Haven’t you hurt me enough and now you have to bring her into this?”

Shaking his head, horror slowly overcoming him as Sentinel seemed to sink into a dark place in his mind, the other Prime stumbled over his words. “T-this isn’t about Elita? What are you talking about then? When did I hurt … you?”

Optimus had to take a step back, hand on his chassis as he understood something, the shame in his spark.

“I hurt you down in the subways, didn’t I?”

His words were soft, daring and true. His spark did nothing but agree.

“W-what did I do?”

Sentinel, as if snapping completely out of whatever state he had been in, seemed to come back to himself as if Elita was whispering in his audio. Optics going wide, a hand pacing itself over his mouth, the mech started shaking his head in denial. His voice was shaking as he lowered his hand somewhat to murmur, “I-I…”

_I wanted to be Magnus._

“You did nothing … Optimus,” finished Sentinel, his optics unable to look at the other.

Shaking his own head, his spark telling him that Sentinel was lying and that he deserved to know the truth, Optimus’ voice shook. “You’re _lying_. Tell me what happened! What happened down there?”

The fire-truck’s face was twisted in anger and rage like Optimus could never recall ever feeling before. He wanted to tell himself that he had a reason to be angry and yet at the same time a part of him wondered if his reaction, his rage, was just because the other had turned him down and denied him sexually… that this entire fight was all over sexual frustration and he was currently just picking for a fight.

And yet he could not stall his peds as he came forward and suddenly grabbed Sentinel by his shoulders, his fingers digging into the other’s plating as he all but growled, “What do you mean by I _hurt_ you?”

Sentinel twitched at the other’s touch. Optimus’ current rage was just so unlike him in every way and yet what bothered him the most was the touch which was growing more and more painful. And, for some haunting reason, he also found his spark reacting, his spark becoming angry as well. Why _should he only feel sorrow? Why couldn’t he be mad as well? Why couldn’t he be angry for the wrongs that had occurred to him!_ He had pressed so many things down that only rage he let through obeyed rules and regulations and passive aggressive shit … And he was _mad_.

He was so angry.

And it _snapped_.

Sorrow suddenly gave into rage and rage gave into hate and hate gave into action.

A scream suddenly erupting from the sorrowful form and Sentinel lashed out as he pushed against the other’s grasp. Rage had blurred the world into black and white and red. He didn’t recall what happened after that. All Sentinel knew was that he was now punching Optimus over and over and over again until the other was on the floor. And then it was like he was merely watching someone else act again, his form no longer his.

Someone else was screaming and angry and so full of hate that their spark had to be black. And if there was a rock or a heavy item nearby, there would be circuits all over the floor. A helm would be cracked open and oil would be everywhere. Just like Soundwave. Instead, this time, the victim fought back. Optimus was struggling to grab his attacker’s wrists and restrained Sentinel’s uncoordinated attack.

And despite becoming slowly restrained, all Sentinel knew was that there was a shadow -yellow he believed- standing in the darkness of his doorway.

_‘Sentinel … stop. Is it not your dream to be Magnus?’_

And then his vision blurred as the world returned to color. Sentinel wasn’t sure how Optimus had gotten on top of him, maybe he had been distracted by Elita’s voice which was given form, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Optimus was on top of him and murmuring down at him as energon dripped down the other’s face from his broken lips and damaged optic.

Energon was bleeding down onto his chassis. Blue and warm … like the energon that had once dripped from between his legs.

Sentinel seized, a flashback threatening to hit him full force when there was the sound of peds, chasing away the horror.

“Unicron’s beard! What the pit is going on here!” suddenly came a cry as a shadow casted itself over Elita’s outline causing her ghostly visage to disappear, Ratchet running into the room. “Optimus … get off of him! Get off of him now!!”

And yet, even when a screaming match erupted between Optimus and Ratchet and Jazz, Optimus getting off his abdomen, Sentinel continued to lay there on the floor. He was half lucid, staring at the shadows where she had been, where her apparition had been. It had felt like a groon had gone by though it was probably only a few nano-clicks before Jazz was helping him sit up, wiping the energon from his chassis.

“Hey, hey, SP. You okay? What happened? OP looks like he was hit by a snow plow. You okay?” asked Jazz as he knelt beside the disoriented Prime.

Bringing a hand up, placing it over his optics to try and chase away the outline of her form, the mech shook his head, pretending that he couldn’t hear Ratchet griping and mother-henning over his own Prime in the hall. Instead, all he could do was bring his hand down and stare at the energon on his knuckles, shame and hate pressing deep into his spark.

“I-I hit him. I hit him so hard … It was like Soundwave all over again,” whispered Sentinel, not knowing what else to say.

Jazz, struggling to smile, murmured, “So… you hit him because you thought he was Soundwave?”

Blinking his optics on and off, Sentinel swallowed, knowing it was a lie. He knew he was hitting Optimus. “Yeah, he woke me up and I thought I was back down there … and I just struck out.”

Nodding, sighing, Jazz patted the other on the shoulder. “Alright, I’m … going to help clean Optimus up and … can you clean yourself up? I’ll … talk to you in a little bit. I’ll probably send one of … or _both_ of the fly-kids in with some energon for yah, okay?”

His throat felt tight, his spark constricting in rage and shame … yet all Sentinel could do was stare at his knuckles and the energon all over them. And for some reason, though a part of him told him he deserved penitence for what had been done to him again and again in the subway system, he did not feel one ounce of fulfillment.

And then, there, sitting on the floor as Optimus was mother-henned by both Jazz and Ratchet, Sentinel decided that he would never tell Optimus what happened. Punishing Optimus would bring him no joy and little revenge … and the only one that deserved justice was already dead.

His circuits beaten into the pavement.

His hands becoming fists, Sentinel slowly opened his palms and let it go, Elita’s voice whispering in the back of his mind. ‘ _That’s my hero … so silently do you suffer._ ’

…

Jazz sighed as Optimus cringed away from Ratchet’s bloodied hands, the medic trying to bend and tend the soft metal of Prime’s face back into place. Ratchet, finally taking a rag into hand, grumbled, “Alright, Optimus … quit babying. You should have known better than to wake a mech, a soldier, when they might have post traumatic stress. Plus … I _warned_ you not to wake him!”

Optimus, lying on a berth in Steelhaven’s medical bay, sighed. “I know you told me … and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake him … and I shouldn’t have touched him.”

“You touched him,” said Ratchet, his tone odd.

“Yeah,” said Optimus, unable to speak the entire truth at the moment since he still didn’t know how he felt about it. “He was talking … oddly. He said I hurt him and I was coming back for more or … maybe he thought I was Soundwave or something. I just … I should have realized he was dreaming or having a flashback or something.”

Ratchet, his face stoic and cold, said nothing at first before he grumbled, “Stay still kid, I’m going to plug you into the berth and make sure nothing important was damaged.”

Jazz, drying his hands of the energon that had been there, watched as the medic plugged the young mech in, Optimus’ optics going offline. Only once he was sure that the berth’s medical computers had the Prime offline did Jazz speak. “I will make sure he get’s proper counseling when we get back … for Post Traumatic Stress. And I am sorry … about Optimus’ face.”

Ratchet, staring at the readings for a moment, knew what Jazz was leaning towards. The ninja-bot wanted to know if a court marshal was going to be pursued or not after what happened in Sentinel’s room.

Throwing a look at Optimus’ bent face, the medic sneered. He wanted to be angry, he really did, but Optimus’ words … they made him feel sick inside. He was sure, in the back of his mind, that he was wrong about his thoughts of Sentinel being … being raped. But he knew now.

He was right about Optimus raping Sentinel.

And his spark ached as if his own son had just admitted to being a Decepticon.

Swallowing, so tired he wanted to lie down and weep, he murmured, “No, Jazz. I told Optimus not to wake him and he did … I was worried about this kind of reaction so … it is no one’s fault. I should have checked on Sentinel myself.”

Jazz’s shoulders slumped somewhat. “Good to know … and its probably best that we leave as soon as possible.”

Ratchet twitched. “What! What about my checkup? Jazz, if anything this should prove that I need to check him out more.”

Suddenly looking angry, the tone of his voice rising “And what can you do for his mind? You are a medic, not a psychologist! He needs real help … he needs to get away from this _place_.”

The medic wanted to shake his head. To disagree, to tell Jazz what he knew was wrong and yet … and yet … his vocals were silent. He had a decision to make and quit obviously, as Sari would say: you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. What a horse was, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he understood the saying none the less.

If Sentinel wanted help, he would have asked for it … not covered it up.

Perhaps in time, but not now, not here with a reminder so close.

And his thoughts were silent as he replied to Jazz, “Perhaps you are right. Let me patch up Optimus … and then you can go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Ratchet, poor dear … and poor Optimus’ face. XD


	7. Needs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Sentinel wasn’t sure when he had crawled back into his berth and fallen into recharge, but he woke to find the ship in movement. Laying on his berth on his back, staring at the ceiling as a cube glowed on his nightstand, he did not know if this was a good thing or not. He did not know if he should find comfort in escaping that Earth or not.

Placing his hands over his face, Sentinel tried to drown out the light of the energon cube at this berth side. The twins must have come into his room and placed it there and for some reason … it bothered him. He did not want anyone in his room or near his berth when he was at his weakest, recharging.

Also, he didn’t need someone seeing him dreaming. He didn’t need anyone guessing his nightmares.

Lying there a moment more, knowing he couldn’t press his over-rested form back into recharge, he slowly sat up with a grunt. Sitting in his room in the complete darkness, Sentinel glared at the cube for a moment. He was hungry. His tank was lower than he usual allowed it to be, but for some reason he _just didn’t care_. Perhaps, it was because his insides were still squirming about what had happened with Optimus.

It had been a blessing that Jazz was so adamant to obey Alpha Trion’s request or otherwise … he would have to face Optimus again and explain what his break down had meant.

Placing a hand over his optics, the young mech tried to forget what he said to Optimus. There was no doubt in his mind that Optimus would dwell on those words of his until the end of time, always wondering and in silent moments perhaps he would even ask himself what they meant. Yeah, it might take Optimus ten vorns before he got another opportunity to ask Sentinel face to face what those words meant, but there was no doubt in Sentinel’s mind that Ultra Magnus would give Optimus recognition for getting all the shards and defeating Cons. Optimus would earn his title back, in time. Besides, Magnus always seemed to have a liking for Optimus. In fact, the only way to keep Optimus away indefinitely was if Ultra Magnus was never allowed to be the Magnus ever _again_.

Sentinel softly cursed himself in the dark confines of his room.

How could he think that?! Had the Con fucked him and not Optimus because he was sure there was more and more Con in him the longer this charade dragged out. He beat a mech’s helm in, was placing lie upon lie on himself, hid evidence, ignored a medic’s direct command, attacked a fellow officer, and now he was thinking of ways to make sure Ultra would never rule again!

Maybe Soundwave did get in his head.

Thinking that hiding in the dark wasn’t the best way to calm his mind, Sentinel murmured, “Lights, fifty percent.”

Then, the world seeming a little brighter, he looked at the cube again.

And ignored it.

…

The mega-cycles passed after that, the twins at a distance and Jazz always watching him out of the corner of his visor as if waiting for him to snap. Waiting for him to hit someone else. He wouldn’t do that, of course. His revenge, though minor, had been stale and unfulfilling. Hitting Optimus did not undo what had been done and telling Optimus the truth would not undo the actions either.

He felt hollow inside though he always felt hungry.

Not that he was in the mood to intake anything.

Lately, Jazz had been giving him medical grade because his paint looked so dull and his optics to dim … Even though he hated the pit-forsaken things. Those cubes were vile and slimy, full of peta-flesh metals and raw energon chips. It made him want to gag whenever one was placed in front of him, like right now.

Sentinel cringed as Jazz walked up to his control deck consul and placed a nasty looking pink and blue oily looking cube next to him.

The two twins chuckled slightly in the background (a slight normalcy he was glad for) as the larger bot glared at the ninja-bot. “I’m not drinking that. You have given me like one of those every mega-cycle. No… no more. I’d rather deactivate then taste that-that sludge.”

Jazz gave his superior a _look_ , before he motioned towards Sentinel’s form. “And you might just deactivate, SP. Your paint looks so dull … an’ as the ship’s medic, I get to tell you what to intake.”

Sighing like a sparklet, Sentinel slowly reaching for the cube, fingers daring to touch it but not quiet doing so. Watching the superior do this for about ten nano-clicks, Jazz decided that since Sentinel was just sitting there, it was time they discussed a much more important issue about the blue mech’s health. A recent health concern that he had noticed.

Turning his attention to the rest of their crew, Jazz spoke to the twins, “Oy … You two get those dancing legs drumming, I need someone to check the engine room and to stop giggling at SP. You’re just encouraging him.”

The two twins were quickly to their feet and saluting their superior, both murmuring, “Yes sir, Mr. Jazz sir!”

And then the two were gone, the door to the command bridge sliding shut and leaving the ninja-bot with his superior. The air immediately changed and both of them knew it as that visor turned in Sentinel’s direction.

Sentinel was the first to speak, still not willing to touch that dreadful cube of medical grade. “The engine’s reading are fine, Jazz. So tell me, what do you want to speak to me alone about? It’s obvious that you want to speak about something. And I already agreed with you mega-cycles ago that I would speak to someone about my _mental health_ when we got back to Cybertron.”

The last few cycles in space had calmed the blue bot somewhat and he wanted to keep calm or else he might give away his paranoia. Jazz had a way of asking the _right_ questions.

Sighing, the smaller bot leaned against the consul so that Sentinel had to look at him, the usually care free bot appearing to be older than usual. He almost reminded Sentinel of a commanding tactician in Ultra’s cabinet called Sideswipe, from the ancient war. In fact, stoic was surprisingly well worn on Jazz. It made him look his age, older then Sentinel, and far wiser to the universe then most would guess.

Shaking his head at Sentinel’s presumption, the mech carried a professional tone. “No, SP, that is not what I wanted to talk about. You dig … I just noticed that you’re shifting a lot. Are you okay?”

Sentinel tried not to twitch or fidget in his seat. He just couldn’t help it though. His valve was wet all the time lately down there, twitching and pulsing away. He didn’t know if that was normal for newly popped valves once they adjusted from their first fragging, but he honestly had no intention of telling Jazz and risk giving away his secret.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Sentinel then turned his attention to the maps before him, pretending not to care that Jazz seemed to be glaring into his very spark.

“Well, for one, you were recently tortured and had some kind of flashback. Normal mechs just don’t shrug that off,” said the ninja-bot, frowning deeply. “All bots have to deal with the stress in some way.”

Sentinel’s fingers twitched but he kept his attention on the star charts, grumbling, “I’m not going to write poetry or look at oil-splotches, Jazz. If that is what you’re asking?”

“I’m not askin’ you to,” said Jazz, seeming slightly frustrated before he signed and grumbled, “Look, SP, I’ll get to the point. I wanted to be a little more casual about this, but your jackin’ my calm mind so I’ll get to the point.”

The ninja-bot then said something that would have made Sentinel run out of the room in complete embarrassment.

“I saw your seat the last two days … Your leaking lubing fluids, aren’t you?” asked Jazz as the team’s medic more than the smooth talker he was known for on Cybertron.

Sentinel was obviously to flabbergast too reply, his facial features filling with horror.

Jazz, noticing how Sentinel quickly placed a hand over his cod piece and quickly shifted his legs as if hiding something, quickly put his hands up as if swearing to a peace treating, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. You’re a young mech … Your body will do things that are ... Ugh, natural. It’s just that one of the twin’s noticed yesterday and I really don’t want to have that conversation with them quiet yet about urges or …lubing valves.”

Sentinel, completely mortified at this point, actual brought his hands up and covered his face, almost begging, “Jazz … I understand …. Please stop.”

Feeling terrible, his reason not at all to mortify his superior, the ninja-bot tried to correctly correlate his point, “No, no, no! You don’t have to be ashamed, SP. I’ve heard that that is how … some bodies deal with stress. Some mech’s get a glitch, some get odd idiocracies, other’s write poetry and some mech’s bodies try to get rid of the stress … physically.”

Sentinel actual whined behind his hands, feeling like it was the first time his spike had went hard behind his cod and his parents had noticed a clicking sound at the table.

“Please stop talking Jazz …”

“But SP what I’m trying to say is … is… is…”

Jazz, a mech rarely one who lost his words, made Sentinel remove his hands to look at the other with the most pathetic expression imaginable, the Prime grumbling, “Just say it … It can’t be worse than whatever you have already said.”

Sighing, the ninja-bot softly said, “If you need … assistance … I can help you relieve the stress.”

Sentinel gained a horrified expression again though Jazz continued to blabber on.

“Not that I’m sexually attracted to you, not that you aren’t good looking SP, but what I mean to say is that many soldiers look for comfort in the ranks to deal with stress and if you can’t deal with it yourself … You are no lesser of a mech for asking for some help,” added Jazz, truthfully sincere despite how awkward the whole thing had been.

Optics tired, his valve pulsing, Sentinel’s shoulder’s sagged.

He had ignored it long enough, his valve’s strange twitches for attention the farther and farther they got from Earth, but Jazz did have a point. It could just be a natural reaction to stress or … to being just popped. Either way, the longer he ignored it, the more he was going to gather lube in his valve.

Nodding his head, the superior relented, “I-I … will deal with it myself for now Jazz. I’m … going to take a break.”

Then rising, twitching when he did notice a slight wet spot where he had been sitting, Sentinel almost moaned in mortification but Jazz was quick to interfere with those thoughts. Placing the cube in Sentinel’s hands, Jazz added in his usual perky tones, “Don’t worry about that SP. Just take your cube and some _rest_. Take as _long_ as you need.”

Nodding, Sentinel basically ran out of the room, though as the doors shut he did hear the ninja-bot murmur, “Man, that was ten shades of awkward.”

…

Cube on his night stand, next to a normal cube, Sentinel sat alone in his room a few cycles later. His optics were so dim that his form seemed to be little more than a corpse. He was so still and … barren. Staring at his hands, he tried to press feelings of hope and success to the surface. He shouldn’t be this upset. So his he had to jack off. It wasn’t a big deal. He was finally going to be Magnus. Jazz had told him about the communication that had occurred a few mega-cycles earlier. And in a few more mega-cycles he would be home and he would be a hero. He would protect the people of Cybertron from the villains that hailed from the stars… organics to Cons.

He would show everyone that he was worth just as much love as Optimus.

Optimus, who had been adored when they were in the Academy and strangely enough was still adored by Ultra Magnus enough that his title as Prime had not been stripped.

It was a bitterness that Sentinel could never let lie and rest. It was because of Optimus that Elita was dead. True, he knew that he should have had enough sense not to go to that spider planet, but he was young and Optimus was the group leader, he should have put his foot down and said no.

But… truthfully, the real reason he couldn’t stand Optimus… before the rape… was because he hadn’t been allowed to go down after her in the spider caves.

He would have.

He still wanted to look for her lifeless husk in his darkest moments.

Like right now he couldn’t think about that though with his spark twitching and his valve swallowing, wet with lube. He pressed his thighs together, feeling a tightness, a want for something between his thighs though at the same time he knew he should feel sick with himself. He should never want anyone between his legs again. He should never want anyone, especially a mech, to touch or ever look at him _there_. And yet, the tightness just grew more demanding and the pressing of his thighs together just made his valve ripple with even more want.

Fighting with himself, hating how his mind kept thinking of how it wanted something between his thighs especially someone with thin hips and pouty lips, Sentinel almost puked when he realized what his mind was playing at. Cursing himself, the mech slowly laid back onto his berth and slowly opened his legs.

Pressing all thoughts of arousing figures to the back of his mind, he decided to do this the old fashion way and arose himself by touching the equipment.

With weary fingers he slowly reached down to his cod piece and somehow Sentinel managed to hold back a sob. He didn’t want to ever touch his valve again but he didn’t know how else to stall the growing ache between his legs, and he couldn’t keep leaking! So the only thing to do was to take Jazz’s advice and release some of his system’s tension. It was just tense and sore from its first popping. It just needed some attention and that was normal … right?

Oh frag, what would he know? He hadn’t paid much attention to those medial lectures about mech poppings. He had decided at a young age that femmes were the only way to go. They were the only ones that could make his spike react those first steller cycles when his spark was maturing. Those had been the days … His first few frags had been messy and awkward but the femmes … It had been their first times as well.

The whimpers they made when he broke their seals and the way they would clutch at his armor and whimper at first as he stretched them, even now days the thought of those young femmes could make his circuits frizzle and his spike go hard.

But not anymore.

He hadn’t even been able to get his spike to come out of its casing since the incident. Not that he had much want for sexual endeavors but he had to do something! But the harder he tried to think of ways to get his spike to rise, a part of him even digging into some old adult vids he kept under his berth, the more he was certain it wasn’t going to pop up.

He was slowly growing desperate for _anything_ that would make him _hard_ and not _wet_.

But he just kept getting wetter and wetter, his valve twitching in the cool air. He had been wet for mega-cycles it felt like, and he just couldn’t deny it anymore. Jazz had to be right. It was just stress. He just had to relieve himself and he didn’t have to think of Optimus and his soft touches and how gentle he was considering.

And yet, as he pressed his fingers into his valve, two fingers quickly becoming three as he buckled against his hand, flashes of that loveless night kept occurring. Even as he bided Optimus’ imagined touches and kisses away, his fingers pressing deeper into his wetness to sooth his inner walls, he could still hear Optimus’ vents panting against his heating metal. Even as his hand moved erratically, his hips bucking in sickening want and need, he could still feel Optimus’ hand pressing at the seams in his thigh. And, when his orgasm finally came, fluid dripping onto his berth, he found himself whimpering out none other than Optimus’ name.

Then, completely sick with himself and yet bodily fulfilled, Sentinel quickly fell into recharge dreaming of none other than Optimus’ golden spark.

…

Meanwhile… across the galaxy, there was another young bot who was suffering bodily troubles as well, and it kept poking at the inside of his cod piece. Optimus twitched and resisted the urge to bring his hand down and cover his cod piece. He felt the instinctive urge to hide the reaction, but then again he knew that that would just bring more attention to his neither regions. Shifting on his legs, Optimus pretended to pay attention to the video feeds in front of him as he looked for Decepticon activity.

But … he was just getting harder and harder under his cod piece and he had no idea why!

The last few days had been this way. The first time it had happened, he hadn’t thought much of it and had taken care of it with a quick hand job. That had been the day Sentinel had woken from Soundwave’s attack. He had started getting hard whenever he saw Sentinel and he had merely dismissed it as a normal reaction for his age. Technically, he was in a good age group to start reproducing.

Sometimes … reactions would occur. It was _natural_ and it made sure their equipment was up to par and functioning.

At least that was what he had told Bumblebee when the youth had started having reactions since coming to Earth. Personally, part of him wondered if it was because of Sari especially with her new form. He had no idea how far Sari would upgrade and if one day she would have a compete alt mode that would allow her to blend into Cybertron, but regardless Bumblebee would probably one day try to have a physical relationship with her. Personally, he wondered if her form would one day allow her to have intimate relations with a mech, but she was still a youngling so it mattered little right now.  

Shaking his head, the fire truck tried to ease such thoughts from his head. He didn’t need to know if the child had the right equipment to be with a Cybertronian. It didn’t even matter! He didn’t even know how such thoughts entered his head though he had an idea it had something to do with the persistent tool under his cod piece.

Gritting his teeth, wishing he had some kind of kill switch to the natural reaction, Optimus struggled to ignore the perverted thoughts popping up in his circuits. What was wrong with him? His spark had matured years ago, back in his academy days. But this tightness in his spark and equipment was growing more and more frequent that it was starting to becoming troublesome … especially with the dreams.

There was a femme or maybe it was a mech, the place was draped in shadows, and they would cry out as he pressed into their valve, kissing their helm and down their neck and … it-it was very erotic and Optimus would admit he wasn’t used to those types of dreams. Not even when his spark was maturing did he have dreams like that.

Frag, what was wrong with him?

Maybe he should talk to Ratchet.

“Ratchet is napping somewhere on 4th street,” said a calm, cool voice.

Optimus almost squeaked when he realized that Prowl had been standing next to him. It wasn’t uncommon for Prowl to do so but he had a feeling the ninja-bot had been standing there for a while.

“P-Prowl … what are you. I mean … why does it matter where Ratchet decided to collect parking violations?” said Optimus as he tried to gather himself.

Prowl, who was staring at the screen with the cool expressionlessness that seemed such a norm to him, murmured back, “Well, I figured you were thinking some type of deep thought and when you have deep thoughts you generally consort with Ratchet about them given his wisdom.”

Optimus blinked his optics off and on at Prowl’s words, asking, “How did you know?”

Prowl stared at his leader for a moment with almost a sarcastic glance before he pointed to the screen and murmured, “I figured that you must have had some type of deep thoughts since you haven’t noticed that the Angry Archer is terrorizing down town.”

Optics becoming wide, a blush setting itself on his metallic cheeks, Optimus turned his head to the screens.

“Frag … I need to get my head on straight,” grumbled Optimus as he rose to his feet and clicked on his comm. link. “Autobots, we have an emergency!”

Optimus, despite knowing that this was going to be one of those days, was thankful that there wasn’t a tightness under his cod piece anymore … though he had a feeling that later tonight he would dream of the same mech and his deep lustrous moaning and in the morning he would have to jack off … again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that thought Optimus doesn’t really know what he has done … a deeper part of him does. And sorry if this chapter seems a little fillery, but I have to get through Megatron’s defeat before the story can divulge further so we are going to have some time skips … And then Sentinel learns a nasty truth. So stick with me for a chapter or two, I’ll try to be quick about it. ^^;


	8. Darkness Sets In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

And time passed. There is not much else to say than that. Optimus fought his battle on Earth, his _urges_ less often but still persistent and Sentinel finally got to Cybertron where he normally completely ignored his urges. And so, predictably, Sentinel became the next Magnus, though he did not get the fancy ceremony that he imagined. It had not been as grand or as glamorous as his mind had always predicted it to be. It had been stoic and professional and in the dead of night when Alpha Trion had stood before him, bestowing a temporary title. He would not be upgraded to a larger form until it was assured that Ultra Magnus would not survive his encounter with the spy.

Longarms … the traitor.

And yet, Sentinel did not feel the enlightenment he always thought he would. He did not feel any joy or happiness or fulfillment in his new position. He just felt bitter and tired and achy. He sometimes wondered if Optimus’ spark had corrupted him, dulled his needs and wants, leaving him a bitter empty shell. In moments like those he would have to resist the urge to have a complete fit of hate so, instead, he would merely head off for a little reminder as to why he wanted to be Magnus.

He needed a reminder as to why it was _right_ for him to be Magnus instead of jumping off the highest building in the city.

Sentinel’s head twitched at the dark thought and he quickly looked around the hall to make sure no one had seen his tick. There was a medic down the way, but he seemed busy talking to a young femme. He quickly sighed in relief and turned his attention back to the path he had set for himself. He knew that he should tell a medic or Jazz or even the twins about his self destructive _thoughts_ , but he knew that there would probably lose the title he worked so hard for. Systems existed to keep such _thoughts_ at bay, lines of code even existed to dissuaded dark thoughts … like the want to break open and drink acid pellets.

Sentinel’s optic twitched again and his systems went into a fury, software systems rushing around in his head looking for the origin of the self-destructive thoughts so they could be promptly deleted. Though Sentinel knew the programs would never find the origin and fix it … because it was coming from his spark.

Ignoring another twitch, this thought involving a training accident, Sentinel headed to the only sanctuary he was allowed. The closest thing to a father he had and in his current condition, the only one that would merely _listen_.

Ultra Magnus.

Nodding to the guard that was always at the old Magnus’ door, Sentinel entered with little issues, stalling for a moment to take in the sight as the door closed behind him. Ultra was as still as ever, his stats flickering as they did every day; Sentinel could not decide if he was happy or not for that. In one hand, he had fulfilled his dream of becoming Magnus and in the other … he wanted someone stronger than him. Someone to chide and protect him, hide him from public view since his form felt so meek and frail since the _incident_.

For some reason, the glances that he had once imagined to be gratifying now frightened him and he had no idea why.

‘ _Oh yes you do_ ,’ came a voice.

The young Magnus twitched looking at Ultra for a moment thinking it was the old mech, but then he realized _who_ it really was when he noticed that those old optics were still offline. Sentinel refused to tilt his head the whole way to the left where he _knew_ a yellow blur was sitting.

_She was back._

She was as comforting as much as she was frightening at the same time. And as the mega-cycles passed, the more she became a familiar figure: the specter of Elita-1.

“No, I don’t. And can’t you just let me be, Elita? I just want to speak with Ultra today in peace. A moment to clear my thoughts,” he whispered, barely auditable as he sat down next to Ultra Magnus’ berth side, a part of him whispering and praying that if anyone happened to hear him speaking to the specter that they would think he was speaking to Ultra, one of the few mechs in the whole universe that he admired.  

_‘He will not answer you, but I will.” The wispy voice of the specter continued, “Sentinel … are you truly so afraid of what they might see that you are forced to hide in here with a nearly dead mech, whispering for help? Are you really afraid that they will see what Optimus did to you? How he degraded and raped you?”_

Sentinel twitched at her biting words but said nothing in reply as he pretended to be interested in the mech before him.

 _“Or, tell me this old lover, are you actually afraid of them discovering who and what you are,’_ she said, her voice hazy and a bit biting. “ _A victim_.”

“I thought you were supposed to be on my side,” Sentinel finally spat, watching Ultra’s spark beat monitor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

 _‘I am … but I’ve never been one to lie to you Sentinel. The people will find out and when they do … they will frown at you, hate you. They will think you weak and no one will want you … except for me that is. And I cannot even comfort you,”_ came Elita’s ghost like voice, her apparition moving in the edge of his vision.

Swallowing, his hands becoming fists, Sentinel choked, “No one knows. S-soundwave is dead and the evidence is gone.”

There was a moment of silence before Elita replied, ‘ _Yes, most of it is gone, I’m sure. I’m sure your chamber just sucked Optimus’ nanites up, absorbing them into your shell,”_ Sentinel shivered at this and instinctively placed a hand on his abdomen. ‘ _But there is one major detail that was never cleaned up.”_

“… And what would that be?” he said, paranoia biting at the back of his mind.

She was silent for a moment, the figment wandering nearer to his back. ‘ _Optimus Prime. He might not recall now, maybe not even in an orn or perhaps even a vorn … but he might remember one day. He might recall what he has done … and he has always been so noble. He will tell… He must be silenced._ ’

 Her shadowy hand then ghosted over his shoulder, daring to touch Sentinel but never to quite doing so. It was a haunting taunt and he dared not look over his shoulder because he knew, _knew_ , her face was distorted, that some part of her body had to be ripped and shredded and worn by the explosion or time because in the corner of his optic, just in the reaches of the shadows, he could see her hands. And they were always rusting and the longer she stayed by his side, as the mega-cycles dragged on, the more decomposed she started to look.

It was like she wasn’t supposed to be here and the universe knew it. She was becoming a monstrous thing, a huskless sparks wandering about, even if she was merely a memory. Even her mannerisms started to become dark. Almost cruel … and it was then that he understood what she meant.

“I’m _not_ going to kill Optimus,” whispered Sentinel as he turned his head to glare at the specter and yet, predictably, the air was found to be empty behind him. And yet … her whisper continued as a yellow hand was laid on his opposite shoulder though he knew there was nothing there. Not one sensor picked up her touch.

 _“And I would never ask that of you… but perhaps it is best if you leave him on his own, no backup, as punishment for hurting you._ _He deserves to suffer_!” Elita growled, her voice becoming scratchy and almost frightening before her voice returned to her usual feminine tones. “ _Just let the Cons punish him, let him defend his dirty little mud hole, Earth. You can pick up the shard pieces later, yourself … and then you will be the hero twice over.”_

Despite himself, despite how his breath was shaky and how his spark was clenching or how his abdomen hurt, Sentinel found he could not disagree with the specter’s advice. Even though he knew it was wrong, he allowed her to whispered darker and far more paranoid things into his audio as the time passed. A part of him wanted everyone else to feel the pain he had. Though parts of him that still remained from before that night in the subways and those parts of his mind disagreed heavily, biting and hissing at the top of his spark, telling him that this was an evil specter. This was not his Elita-1! And so, hands shaking, he was about to continue the discussion with the ghost that was lingering around him when suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Sentinel jumped, the specter gone as he turned to the door. “Come in!”

Jazz, opening the door with some caution looked around in confusion, asking, “Visiting Ultra again, SP. I mean SM … but where is visitor number two?”

Sentinel, fear rippling over his chassis could only ask in silent horror. “W-what do you mean?”

“I could have sworn I heard a second voice in here with yah, a femme … Guess I must have rust in my audios or somethin’,” said Jazz as he signaled to the door. “Regardless, you have a meetin’ to get to Magnus.”

“Y-yeah, a meeting,” mumbled Sentinel as he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself for a little comfort, Jazz’s words terrifying. Had he been talking to himself or was Elita’s ghost really there? Either way, he had to keep strong. In fact, he had to keep himself as sturdy and hidden as possible so that no one could ever see his weakness. He needed to look strong … even though he was trembling inside.

Jazz, his behavior seeming far more sour than usual, asked softly as they walked, “So … I know you are tryin’ to keep Cybertron safe SM but what about OP on Earth? He has to be hurtin’ for backup. Maybe you could go yourself. I hear rumors of a half organic Con that’s giving OP the runaround. I’m sure he would appreciate the help.”

Sentinel, rage and sorrow and fear mixing together in a nasty cocktail, almost bit out at the other, “And leave Cybertron,” _myself_ , “defenseless! I think not. He can take care of himself.”

He had then stomped away from the closest person to a friend he had and that was probably when the seeds of betrayal had been planted in Jazz’s spark, a few mega-cycles later he even took and left with the Magnus hammer. But such is the case of madness and how it progresses, hurting those around you. But Sentinel did not want to recall a planet called Earth or any of its current residence so he did not chase after Jazz. He just knew he had to keep himself safe from any Decepticons and the safest place was on Cybertron.

He just _had_ to keep himself safe.

He had to keep himself safe.

He had to keep _it_ safe.

And yet, every time he would stall and ask himself what _it_ was, Elita would never answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter. Like painful to look at short. Oh well, it’s a time-skip chapter anyway. Next chapter … well, we see the end of Sentinel Magnus. Well, I guest this chapter was a bit befitting in length, huh? Considering how short Sentinel’s rein was. XD


	9. Turning Point

Who knew that the actions happening on Earth would cascade all the way back to Cybertron, to set and remind Sentinel of his place in the universe.

But they did.

Sentinel, now standing before his leaders as they all peered down at him as if they had a dirty taste in their mouths, thought he should have known that this would come. Optimus had always been in the spot light. The universe was bound to turn its head in the other Prime’s direction sooner or later.

It was bad timing, really. At least that is what the blue Prime had to tell himself as his world started to fall apart, as the Magnus spoke coolly and almost coldly down towards the Prime. Sentinel knew that if Optimus hadn’t overcome Megatron just now, these last few orns, no one would have questioned Sentinel’s paranoia, his brash acts … his fear … because if Megatron had managed to get at least one attack in on Cybertron Sentinel’s paranoid defenses would have had purpose.

That was not the case though. Optimus had won the battle and, in such a show-light of courage, defeated not only Megatron but managed to capture his highest lieutenants as well. So, when the parade in Optimus’ honor was brought to the end and the Decepticons placed in their cells, the public decided they needed a new villain. And, unfortunately for Sentinel, all anyone could see was Sentinel’s paranoia, his narcissism, his tiniest faults while his strengths were completely disregarded. His skill in financing and recruiting and … and … it didn’t matter.

Optimus had used Ultra’s hammer as if it was his own during his grand battle so he was undoubtedly destined to be the next Magnus and even when Ultra Magnus awoke … he did not disagree. Thus, Sentinel’s dreams became invalid. He was a waste of space now … a stain on the title Magnus and it had felt like he had been raped all over again when the consul told him that he was going to be tried for his actions while Magnus. 

Standing before the consul, all of them seated above him, his whole spark felt heavy. Even his hands had felt heavy as Ultra Magnus looked down at him, especially once the elder said that he had been stripped of the title ‘Prime’. The rest of the words didn’t really matter after that. Everything Ultra Magnus said started to fade into a buzzing noise as his spark started thrashing in its casing though Sentinel was sure that Ultra Magnus stated that he was being stripped of his title because of his gross misuse of power and for invoking fear in the peoples’ sparks. Magnus said … it was a sign of bad character and inexperience and that Sentinel was not ready for the title Magnus and certainly not Prime. He said Sentinel would have to crawl up from the title of Minor once again.

He was now Sentinel Minor and he could climb back in rank as … the new Communication Head.

The pain in his abdomen and his spark increased and he tried not to flinch as Magnus continued in his speech about respect and honor. All he could think of now was that _position_. By now it was a cursed position that no one really wanted, because whoever got that arrangement would be viewed as a probable spy.

It burned. His whole body ached, especially since Optimus now stood were he used to looking down at him with this pitying look as Ultra’s new Second in Command. Optimus was one ceremony away from being the next Magnus in line. It might be a vorn or ten vorns, Sentinel had no idea, but one day he would be calling Optimus, Optimus Magnus. He would never be able to crawl up the ranks fast enough … especially with so much distrust.

B-but he couldn’t help it. H-his mind was panicking and frightened and … something just overcame him. All he knew was that no one was going to disgrace him again like in the subway and that his body… no one would hurt it. He didn’t entirely know what that meant, why he would wake to find himself balled up as if trying to protect his vital areas.

All he knew was that, looking at Ultra Magnus’ form in that hospital berth those few orns ago with Elita whispering in his audio, that he couldn’t allow _that_ to happen to him. He couldn’t allow himself to ever be helpless and a victim again.

Perhaps it would have been less painful than this though

And then sound returned to the world.

“Do you understand, Sentinel? You have much to learn. You are a model mech when it comes to regulations but … there is much to discover when it comes to making the right decision,” said the Magnus as the trying came to an end, Sentinel’s punishment proclaimed.

Sentinel was sure his lips murmured he understood and he would earn his title back, but he didn’t really understand. He had no idea at all what it meant to make the right decision. The rules were there. They had made the right decisions politically and fairly and yet … he was wrong, again.

Like on the spider planet.

He was wrong again.

He was always wrong!

He should have gone after Elita! At least he would have made a right decision. He wouldn’t have become so cold and calculating, disheartened, passion ripped from his spark leaving the glass hollow inside as if he were the walking dead! And, also, he wouldn’t have to hate Optimus now, and he wouldn’t be standing here losing all his hard work and gaining a dead position… and he wouldn’t have been raped.

He would have been deactivated, but at least he would have been with her and she wouldn’t be a dead thing that haunting his loneliest hours. He would have been with her and to him, as he saluted the consul and walked away, dying with their hands interlaced would have been one of the loveliest of things.

What mistakes can the dead make?

 _“What mistakes can the dead make, indeed? It’s not such a bad thing … being offline. Trust me,”_ whispered Elita as he stepped into the hall, a shadow shifting in the darkness of the hallway.

The senate’s door closing behind him, Sentinel found he could not disagree with the rotting shadow that followed behind in the shadows. A dark part of his spark, where his _tick_ resided, agreed with Elita and that was the thing he wanted most in the universe right now.

And then his self-survival programs went into a frenzy at the dark thought, not that he cared, even if a medic saw his tick right now. He now knew he would never become the real Magnus. He would never find another femme as great as Elita and he was already disgraced. It had been a thought that had crossed his mind as a rarity, some mechs would short out from the idea alone, but … he could be with her.

If he was dead.

“ _You could, love. You could. No more pain,”_ she agreed, following him as he walked in silence, head hung.

Sentinel could not even find the voice to disagree with her. After all, Primus did not condone suicide, the act so rare since there were so many programs and medical updates made to destroy such lines of code. But a medical scan cannot erase a thought in ones spark.

Really, he had no friends. Jazz was the closest thing to a friend he had and after that hammer incident, that was over, and everyone else had just tolerated him for his title. Hadn’t they? Even the Jet twins he had secretly adored?

_“Probably. They haven’t spoken to you in orns.”_

Now days, he was just an extra piece to the machine, something made incase another part would break, but he proved he couldn’t take the stress.

He was already cracked and damaged.

Swallowing, he walked slowly to the Communications Department and found himself standing before a red mech at an assistance table, his designation popping up as Cliffjumper. The poor mech looked as miserable as he was. He had probably been badgered until near deactivation to see if he was a spy like his superior. Even after that haggering experience, he was probably disgraced for not noticing that Long Arms was a spy. And, what was the likely hood he hadn’t assisted the mech in his dirty deeds? Should he be labeled a traitor?

He could hear the rumors now and it was not something he wanted to be a part of.

He was not a part to be placed in a position he didn’t belong.

It was just best to throw away unwanted pieces.

His spark had ached for long enough. He had been strong long enough. This pain, that he had pressed behind rules and regulations with the sad smile of Elita… it no longer had a wall to be hid behind. He felt so tired and disgraced and discarded. He was dirty on the inside, rusting away, and he had had enough.

Taking in a deep breath, thoughts of where and when coming forward in a calculating mind, he said, “My name is Sentinel Minor, and I will be your superior, designation Cliffjumper, but … I need time to prepare myself for the position. So you will still be acting head until… the time I come back.”

Cliffjumper, his frown growing deep, merely nodded, “Minor, huh? Well, welcome to the club. Can’t blame you for running off to lick your wounds. Just send me the _holiday_ paperwork and I’ll pull it together. I’m sure the Magnus will be peeved you didn’t just jump onboard with gusto though. But like I said, I can’t blame you.”

Saluting the other, knowing that this Cliffjumper would be the last officer to ever speak to him, Sentinel said in a soft voice, “Well, I will be off then. I don’t need any more stares… It was an honor to meet you.”

Confused, feeling like this was a onetime meeting more so then his future boss, Cliffjumper nodded and said, “It’s an honor as well… Hopefully, we’ll get along.”

Sentinel did not reply to that as he turned and walked away. He didn’t want to agree with the other, because he didn’t want it to be a lie.

He had no plans of coming back.

Elita did not disagree.

…

Optimus Prime … felt sick. He had felt as if his spark at been tugged and pulled at as he had stared down at Sentinel during his hearing. The poor mech had looked positively dreadful. He looked like he was in pain, his hand twitching as if it wanted to come to lay itself on his abdomen, but he would always resist … only to twitch. It was such a painful display that Optimus was sure that Sentinel was going to puke when Ultra Magnus had stripped him of his title. Though … only someone like Optimus would have noticed just how much pain Sentinel really was in… or maybe Jazz.

The red and blue Prime sighed as he thought of Ultra Magnus’ verdict. Optimus had begged for a lessoned punishment, saying that he hadn’t felt abandoned on Earth when Sentinel refused to send troops or to come back himself, but Ultra Magnus stated it had to be done. Sentinel could not be a Prime right now. Besides, the public apparently wanted their pound of flesh … and it was better than a dishonorly discharge.

Sentinel could still make something of himself, Magnus had said, which was probably why Optimus later found himself begging for Sentinel to at least be given a position worthy of his knowledge, Communication Head. It had sounded like a good idea at the time and Ultra Magnus had agreed.

After all, Sentinel was generally a good mech. He was smart and though he was somewhat narcissistic, as all young mechs could be from time to time, a position away from the spot light would be good for him. The Communication Head was a position given little physical attention which would be good in more than one way.

Now, having seen the dimness of Sentinel’s optics and heard the softness of his voice, the position felt somewhat cruel.

He wanted to comfort his old friend, assure him that this was all for the best, that this was a better punishment then a dishonorly discharge or a public inquiry, but for some reason he felt that Sentinel would not accept the truth for what it was.

Sentinel could not even look him in the optic and for some reason and that made his spark ache.

And yet, as he wandered the halls, as he looked for the broken form of Sentinel, he could not find his old friend. He could not offer a moment of comfort or kindness, and deep in his golden spark … he felt there was no deeper sin. He felt as if he had just watched a lover beaten and bloodied and he … had done nothing but stand and watch.

Well, he wasn’t watching anymore, but as he stood before the mech called Cliffjumper he found his honorable thoughts knocked down.

“What do you mean he’s not here?”

“He … went home, I would presume. Why would he stick around here after that hearing?” said Cliffjumper almost darkly.

And, even though he accepted that he could speak to Sentinel later, for some reason Optimus felt as if he would never see Sentinel again.

Though why his spark told him that … he had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter with super time jump. Hopefully that chapter beginning wasn't too disorienting.


	10. Last Moments

Sentinel headed home quickly, quietly, and down every back way he could think of so that no one could see him or stop him. He especially didn’t want to run into Optimus Prime because a deep part of him … wanted to ask his oldest friend for help, but it seemed Primus did not want anyone or anything to intervene with his dark thoughts because he finally arrive at home.

It was a nice flat he had lived in for vorns but finally was able to purchase when he was briefly Magnus. It was a smart move to purchase it when he did. It was a plan incase Ultra Magnus awoke and his pay went back to normal. The flat was supposed to last until he could become the permanent Magnus, but … but his dreams were dead.

‘ _Dreams matter little to the dying, Sentinel. Why dwell on it,_ ’ whispered Elita as her shadow drifted into the room.

Frowning though unable to disagree with her, Sentinel looked around his home. He didn’t want to leave a mess for whoever would be given the _responsibility_ in sorting his assets after he was gone. So, Elita’s shadowed form watching him from her perch in a shaded corner, he started to clean. His mind was still clicking away like a broken clock as he asked himself the ‘where’ and ‘how’. Even late into the evening, when the floor was gleaming and his berth room to his kitchen were spotless and organized … the thoughts did not dismiss themselves.

In fact, with Elita’s musing, he had come to some decisions.

 _‘I would do something dramatic. Something romantic so everyone would remember me_ ,’ she offered with a mysterious giggle as if this was a game to her.

“I don’t want to be remembered for this, Elita,” murmured Sentinel as he started making sure his personal paperwork was organized.

 _‘Come on … at least give me a hint of how you are going to do it?_ ’ she purred.

As much as a deep part of him wanted to rub it in Optimus’ face, a prouder part of him did not want to be remembered for this deed he was going to do. In fact, he would rather them never know. After all, even though no one seemed to care about him anymore … he still cared about them. He would spare them this pain at least.

Making sure to leave the flat like he was planning to come back so no one would suspect his true actions, Sentinel left an empty cube on the counter and some random paperwork around. He took very little with him. He wouldn’t need worldly things where he was going anyway. He also wanted it to look as if he had went on a small trip meant to clear his head. He even left his weapons and only took some credits, a few data pads as if for reading, and what looked like his paint-care kit. Not uncommon things for a short trip. After all, most mechs liked to look their best especially on vacations, but for him … He took the paint kit for another reason.

… He needed to hide his Autobot symbol and some of his finer details so if he was found … no one would know his designation.

His model wasn’t that rare and … the nearest colony to find his _corpse_ , if at all, was a shunned one. It was a home to Halflings. Mechs that were half Autobot, Neutral or Con: a disgrace to Autobots and weaklings to the Cons. Mechs with purple optics. They belonged to no one because no one wanted them so they started their own small community though some did become Cons if they were strong enough. The settlement started during the war, because rapes were not uncommon, and had flourished as the war drew on because the city was not affiliated with anyone. The Halflings made their own laws and own civil soldiers, and they paid little attention to Cybertron or the Cons. Docker City as it was called.

Neutrals found it to be a haven.

And so would Sentinel before he made his way back to … her. His Elita. He was bringing her ghost back to her corpse. The spider planet wasn’t very far from Docker City after all and, ironically, if Elita had lived … they had all been planning to go over there to stare at the Halflings like ignorant brats.

His feet somehow having led him to the docks, Sentinel found himself buying a ticket for a ship to Omel, an Autobot space colony known for its party attitude to make it look like he was going to go on a binge to cry his sorrows away. Though, the ticket abandoned, Sentinel wandered away from the expensive space ships and to the cargo ships where he knew they would need some extra hands. His paint job was now completely blue with a neutral sign on his chassis and so it was easy to get onto the cargo ship, _Eureka Seven_. Though his false name felt heavy when he asked the ship’s captain to call him Rift Ring, his false name for the trip. It was smooth and almost simplistically easy. Most of the dock-workers could give a frag less about who was the current Magnus since they didn’t live on Cybertron themselves.

The ship pulling out of the gravity, some of the crew men forcing him to drink an extra cube because he looked ‘ _beat’_ , Sentinel almost thought it was ironic how he had been disgusted once by the dock workers. He was now glad that he had kept such a paranoid eye on the dock workers. His disappearance, for that was what it would be filed away as after a steller-cycle or so, would never be noticed by these hard working mechs. They would just consider him a mech catching a ride in return for some honest labor and the Autobots would theorize that he ran off disgraced and shamed and that would be that.

‘ _And that is fine, for you will be with me_ ,’ whispered Elita in his audio as he worker away on _Eureka Seven_.

Perhaps they would even think a Con got a hold of him, un-armed, and killed him. And that was the best-case scenario.

He had sent vacation paperwork to Cliffjumper saying he would be gone an orn and a half, two tops. He would have seen Docker City by then and be in Elita’s soft embrace before anyone even thought to look for him. The Well of Allsparks was waiting. And so, nearly an orn later after working from dock to dock with the strangely fair crew of _Eureka Seven,_ Sentinel found himself staring up at the self-made city of stone and steal. It was a mixture that might have disgusted him in the past, using even some organic materials to help the city thrive, but now … he felt kind of numb, the glitch not even notable with a black visor on. He was going home… and there would be no need to worry about organics or titles or dishonor.

So a few groons later, Sentinel soon found himself staring at a glass of high-grade. He had been asking around, looking for a ship that was going or could take him to the spider planet. Some mechs would laugh at him asking him why he would like go to that hell hole. It was full of organics, big ones, and others would tell him that the Decepticon’s long forgotten horde of energon was found and exploded long ago. He best go elsewhere if he was a treasure hunter.

He, of course, said he was an organic enthusiast and wanted to observe some of the species there. It was the only excuse he could think of, and if depression was not so heavy on his spark, he might have chuckled at the irony.

Strangely, the title organic enthusiast wasn’t a taboo in Docker City … everyone merely thought he was some type of scientist. Not an official one by Cybertron standards, mind you, since there were no Halflings that could go to an official Cybertronain schools, but that didn’t stop anyone from calling the smart ones scientist or healers regardless.  So … the Halflings soon call him a _student_ and he was luckily directed to Docker City’s College. And if it wasn’t for his particular mindset at the time, he might have taken time to be amazed with the school system that had been built from the ground up. _If this continued, the Halflings could make their own faction in vorns to come._ Not that he was worried because, quiet honestly, these scientists were complete egg heads.

Huge ones at that… especially if the group of scientists he was currently meeting with were anything to go on.

Skyfire and Aquila were both large cargo jets and brothers. They were both obviously parented by a Con, given both of them had wings, but an Autobot as well … since one had blue optics and the other purple. Both… were surprisingly chipper and like minded though Skyfire seemed more welcoming of another mech with a black visor than Aquila.

“So, you are joining us on our research trip,” said Skyfire. “It’s always nice to have another scientist interested in the study of organics … and the rare techno-organic.”

Sentinel almost dropped the cube of energon he had been drinking, surprisingly hungry despite what he was planning on doing, “What? T-techno-organic! N-no, that’s not possible.”

The two brothers, joined by three other scientists and what looked like to be a guide or adventurer (given that her femme form was decorated in heavy ding-proof armor) all gave him a weird look. One of the scientists, Graph who was a medium grounder with a visor that probably hid purple or red optics, asked, “Yes, they say that the explosion contaminated some of the spiders… one spider was even rumor to have spoken vorns back. Though… no one has seen that specimen since.”

Blinking, Sentinel felt slightly sick. Here he was going back to that pit-hole that had normal organics, which were bad enough, but now apparently had techno-organics as well? Well … At least Earth had prepared him for this pit slightly.

Gathering himself quickly so his organic-phobia would not be noted, Sentinel murmured, “I-I just wanted to document o-organics. I don’t know if I can take techno-organics.”

The femme guide actually laughed at him, punching his shoulder as her yellow optics and bulky Con-like structure overshadowed him, “Don’t worry, Autobot.”

“I’m a Neutral,” murmured Sentinel blandly though he was truthfully nervous.

“Whatever, you act like one. That’s what I’m here for. I’m Sonic Trip and I can direct my sonics to scare away or make organics pass out if there is any threats against us,” she said, flashing her ego.

Sentinel actual took a step back, a look of fear overcoming his features as he recalled the only other bot he had met with sonic weapons: _Soundwave_.

Noticing the ‘Neutrals’ sudden reluctance, Skyfire (the mech was worried about losing another participant, especially since the mech had offered Cybertronain credits to get to the planet) acted. Cybertronian credits were an uncommon payment type in these parts, most Autobots disgusted by the city of half-breeds, and the school really needed equipment straight from Cybertron. They needed the credits. So placing his arms in front of Sentinel, he smiled and stated warmly, “Don’t worry, she won’t hurt any of the specimens. She is quite good. We’ve used her skills before.”

Blinking, suddenly realizing that he had pulled into himself by crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his joints like a scared femme, Sentinel blinked behind his visor and murmured, “N-no, I trust her… it’s just that … that I had a bad experience with sonics and became quite … injured. I would rather have them not used around me.”

Sonic Trip, as if being slapped, stepped back and whispered a soft, “Oh.”

Skyfire, the unofficial leader of the students, smiled again and added, “Well, hopefully we won’t have any needs for her sonics but don’t worry, Sonic Trip would never hurt you. She has never hurt any of us. _Us_ being my twin brother Aquila, Graph, Inquis and Static Charge. We are all scientists, though it sounds like you are more of an enthusiasts.”

Sentinel glared behind his visor. Was a planned death really worth putting up with egg-heads?

Elite giggled at his stoic expression and he found himself whispering, “Yes… I’m very interested in them. I’ve been to two organic planets and I … want to know more about them.”

Inquis, a mech of pale orange that might have been a type of hovering flyer, smiled softly and in a gravelly voice that did not belong to such a small body, said, “That is how all great scientists start out. Curiosity. Perhaps if you find that you like the observation and documentation of organics and techno-organics you can join the school. We are always willing to have transfer students.”

Sentinel, finally feeling his age, noting that he was probably younger than most of the mechs here, nodded, “Perhaps. But … lets be on our way. There is a cave I have a date with.”

Some of the scientists laughed at calling his documentation a _date_ and then, feeling more comfortable around the strange blue _Neutral_ mech, the scientists murmured into his audio about things he really didn’t have an interest in. He nodded none the less though, saying he never went to a School of Science before and didn’t understand … only to have them tell him in a different way. If he didn’t already have his goal set, he might have pushed back his plans to _release_ himself if only to spare the odd ball scientists.

But he had promised Elita’s ghost that he would be with her. He would be with her even if he had to hide his fraction, his name, and his body. He would be with her. She was his happiest moment and he wanted to reclaim that feeling to chase away all the pain in his spark… even if it was for a few seconds before he offlined.

He would do what he had tried all those vorns ago when Optimus stopped him. He would jump down after her.

…

Cliffjumper moaned and allowed his face to collapse into a pile of data-pads. Apparently … allowing Sentinel Minor to have his vacation time was a _bad idea_. The Communications Branch was getting pelted with requests and inquiries and meetings and Cliffjumper was fairly self sufficient but there was a lot he couldn’t do. He had already shot down three other Primes’ requests for meetings and that in itself wasn’t a big issue, he told them Sentinel would be out for the next orn, but … Sentinel wasn’t responding.

The ex-Prime had even told him where he was going and where he would be staying. And Cliffjumper kept sending paperwork that needed to be signed and accepted, as well as the question of replacing some of the Communications’ staff, but … he never got any replies from his sent messages. He had sent through countless hails to the room that Sentinel was supposed to be at. He even tried at odd hour intervals praying that he would at least get a drunk and shit face superior, but he never got a single reply.

Frag, this morning he called the pit fraggen motel that Sentinel was supposed to be in and asked if the Minor had overcharged and had been lying on the floor this whole time, slagged, for the last few mega-cycles. When the hostess replied that Sentinel never checked in, Cliffjumper almost freaked. Now, he was half a groon from having a complete and total meltdown when Jazz picked the most inopportune moment to step in front of his desk.

Would this orn never end?

“Yo red, I hear Sentinel works in this dig. Why has he been trippin’? If he’s been hidin’ low, I understand, but ignoring Big Blue’s and OP’s meeting requests… It’s not showing good character,” said Jazz, a little angry that Sentinel was so bitter that he would scuff on his duties as well as his old friends. Optimus seemed to really want to reconnect with Sentinel … especially after the loss in the blue mech’s title.

Optics becoming wide, knowing instinctively what _Big Blue_ meant, Cliffjumper struggled to find something to say but the only thing that came out was, “Ultra Magnus … was trying to set up a meeting? W-why hadn’t he contacted me? I would have set up a time.”

Jazz gave the red bot a look, asking, “And why can’t Sentinel make a meeting himself?”

Cliffjumper, not wanting to make an enemy of his to-be boss so soon, cringed and tried to think of something to say when Jazz put on a placid smile, stating, “I’m just trying to look out for him, get me? We still _are_ friends even after the hammer incident. If he’s in there moping … that’s it, I’m going in there. If he’s holdin’ up in there highlight the Autobot rule book, I’m handed his aft to him.”

Jazz walked past Cliffjumper’s desk and toward the office that had used to be Long Arms and was now Sentinels’. Unsurprisingly, it was not locked, but as Cliffjumper rose and said he wasn’t allowed in there, Jazz opened the door. He, truthfully, expected a moping or maybe a hung over Sentinel sprawled behind his new desk… but as he opened office he noticed it was dimly lit and … bare.

Everything had been cleaned out of Long Arms’ office except for the furniture… and not an article of Sentinel’s life was in place. Not a poster or trophies or even a crystal display, the equivalent of a potted planet on Cybertron. Sentinel had never been terribly decorative in any of his housing or offices, but … he always believed that his rooms had to look professional and slightly comfortable since he would be spending a lot of time there.  There was not even a couch … which Sentinel would fall asleep on while doing paperwork no doubt.

Sentinel had many faults but at the same time he took his role as a Prime very seriously. His paperwork was impeccable and his knowledge of rules and regulations was superb which was why Ultra Magnus did not discharge him. Sentinel knew very little flexibly at times and Jazz always felt that one day he would find out why because, from what he knew of Sentinel’s past, the ex-Prime had been an adventurer and apparently had enough of a sense of honor to be Optimus’ friend.

Where that bot had gone, Jazz didn’t know and currently … he didn’t know if it even mattered.

His tone was soft as he slowly turned to Cliffjumper, “Where is Sentinel Minor?”

Coming up behind the taller bot, frowning and irritated, the red bot murmured, “That’s what I was trying to tell you … He took some vacation time. Two orns.”

Frowning, still thinking it was odd that Sentinel wouldn’t at least set the office up in order to try and crawl up the chain again, Jazz stated, “That doesn’t seem like Sentinel. He … rarely took vacation time unless he didn’t want to go to the medic. Vacation time was his sick time.”

Cliffjumper, trying not to let his inner turmoil show, murmured, “Okay… so now that that is taken care of, w-would you like me to set up a meeting for the Magnus when he comes back?”

Staring at the empty room for a moment, a feeling of unease settling in his spark suddenly feeling that Optimus Prime’s paranoia about Sentinel’s status wasn’t unfounded, Jazz murmured softly, “Yeah, Red … that would be great. Though it’s odd he hasn’t been replying to his messages. Just … let me know when he gets back.”

Then, turning his head to the other, he smiled that million credit smile of his and added, “Sorry, time for introductions. My names Jazz. I use to be one of SM’s old peeps and since I’ll probably be divin’ into this place all the time, what’s your name?”

Cliffjumper merely sighed at the introduction as he gingerly shook the ninja-bot’s hand. It was times like these that he kind of missed Long Arm, even though he was a spy. At least in those days it was quiet around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, the plot just got really dark, didn’t it?


	11. The Fall

Optimus struggled to place a smile on his face, but the truth was … He wasn’t happy. While it was true that he did miss Earth somewhat and sweet Sari, but what was dragging him down was not Cybertron or his new position … but a feeling deep in his spark. Ever since the Soundwave incident, there had been this grip at his spark, this want and need and sorrow and shame …. And he couldn’t calm it with anything. The only thing that slightly made it feel better was when he would dream. When he was dreaming of the mystery mech, the one he was making sweet love to, his spark would become somewhat sated.

Yes, he was now sure that the transformer he was sleeping with was a mech. The dream… was always the same. That was the first thing he noted as the dream carried on. Yes, it was like a lengthy sex dream, so many positions and moans and sweet whispers. The dream was fuzzy and dark and even when he would dwell on it, the details could not be claimed. He just knew it was a mech, there were no breast plate. Though … it was a little more kinky then he could imagine himself being … he didn’t know if he would be into bondage.

Closing his eyes, Optimus dwelled on the dream and wondered if he should head to his office … and dwell on it more _intimately_.

Yet, just as he started towards his private office, he saw a familiar figure heading down the hall.

Jazz.

 Optimus immediately frowned. Not because he was upset to see Jazz … it was just that he felt that Jazz had been ignoring him. He had asked the mech to speak to Sentinel Minor for him so that he could start to rebuild their friendship, but it had been almost an orn and Jazz had yet to speak to him about what Sentinel had said.

Had Sentinel stated that he never wanted to speak to Optimus again? Had something bad happened? Was Sentinel totally wasted and all Jazz could do was get the mech a waste basket. Really, that was the rumor going around. Sentinel’s cases were deplorable. It was as if he had never filled out some of these files before, files completely normal for the Second in Command, and he wouldn’t agree to any meetings. Many at first just thought he was ashamed and refused to face anyway. Really, it wasn’t every day that a mech was a Magnus and then suddenly a Minor again, but now … everyone just presumed he was trashed all the time. There was even a rumor going on that he was an alcoholic.

Personally, Optimus blamed himself for Sentinel’s recent behavior. He should have tried harder to at least keep Sentinel’s _Prime_ title. He should have at least told Ultra Magnus about the incident on Earth. Since Sentinel hadn’t written a full report, the only detail was that it was an encounter with a mentality altering device.

There was no mention of Sentinel’s torture … and personally, Jazz, Ratchet and even himself didn’t want to press the matter without Sentinel’s first eye account. Mostly, because there were too many holes in the story. It was too vague. And for some reason, since Sentinel became Magnus and never told anyone about it, the subject almost felt like a taboo. It felt like a secret. And yet … he knew that he really needed to speak to Ultra Magnus about it now that things had cooled down somewhat. If only to save his friend a little more time.

Though Jazz certainly was not helping him out in that account.

“Jazz,” said Optimus, waving to the other, “Got a second?”

Jazz, giving his thousand dollar smile, skipped over to the newest Second and chirped, “What’s up, OP? Having a good day?”

Optimus shrugged, but found it best not to beat around the bush, “Could be better … Ultra Magnus wants me to go down and … remind Sentinel of his precarious situation.”

Jazz’s smile became strained and he sighed, shoulders sagging as he murmured, “… No, don’t do that. It’s not his fault.”

Optimus sighed, shoulders sagging as the Prime groaned, “He’s drunk … isn’t he?”

Giving a nervous laugh, the ninja-bot agreed, “Probably. He apparently went a two orn vacation right after he was demoted.”

Optimus actually snorted, a part of him relieved somewhat that Sentinel was just relieving his sorrows instead of bottling them up … like he had started to do after Elita’s _presumed_ death. Uh … that was something he didn’t have the spark to tell Sentinel about quiet yet either. He didn’t have the spark to tell his old friend what _really_ became of Elita-1.

“I don’t think it’s funny that Red’s struggling with paperwork. He’s the one doing all of it,” grumbled Jazz, remembering how crest fallen Cliffjumper had looked when he came down to Communications.

“Sorry … Sorry. I’m just relieved. I thought he had given up or something … _terrible_ , but if he’s just wasted on vacation I can breathe a little easier … and get Ultra Magnus off his probably half-drunk back,” chuckled Optimus, his spark calming somewhat where it had been worrying. He had no idea why it had been worried, but Jazz’s confession brought about a huge relief to him.

Jazz actually chuckled as well, feeling comforted.

“Good … though I don’t think he will be happy. Ultra Magnus has been in a bad mood with Sentinel. Mostly because I think he was disappointed in him,” said Jazz, frowning. “And … we haven’t even told him about the Soundwave incident. And I can’t help but wonder if Sentinel’s behavior had something to do with it?”

“Yeah … me too,” murmured Optimus. “I really want to sit down and talk with him about it before telling Magnus though.”

There was a moment of heaviness before the Prime dared ask, “Did he ever get any … help? Anyway to talk to about … why he snapped and attacked me?”

Jazz slowly shook his head, his tone almost depressed. “He … He always claimed to be too busy or tired or … there was always just some kind of excuse… And he wouldn’t talk to me about it.”

Another moment of awkward silence filled the hall before they both nodded to a passing femme, than Optimus continued, “Well … two orns is almost up so we should be getting something out of him soon. Or at least some real paperwork. Maybe I will go down and help out whoever is doing Sentinel’s paperwork while he’s out.”

Laughing, Jazz nodded, “Yeah, Cliff sucks at it.”

And yet, even though his mind was a little less heavy … Optimus’ spark was still not content.

…

Sentinel stood there, silent, a breeze pressing against his back and throwing up dust.

In the past, the dust might have bothered him. Pit, being on this planet might have disturbed him before … his world fell apart, before he had been penetrated and, for lack of a better thought, gone mad. He was going mad. It was not normal to have Elita talking to him, and he had never been so afraid of Cons getting on Cybertron or people obeying him… And he had never been so hungry and empty at the same time.

And yet, energon would not sate his appetite and metal fillings did nothing to sooth the aches of his form. He had this ache all about him.

Even his denta hurt.

Staring down at the deep pit, noting that there were some minor signs that someone had been here like an abandoned rope and a sign stating _danger_ , but other than that … no one had visited Elita’s grave. It felt wrong and sick that no one seemed to remember her but him.

His hands becoming fists, rays of hate towards Optimus and self loathing crawling to the surface as he looked at the deep hole, part of him wanted to go back to Cybertron and punch Optimus in the face but … deep down he knew that he was just as at fault. It just hurt too much to think that he had done this to her, but he would make up for it now.

Pulling in a shaky breath, hating how systems were popping up telling him to contact a medic due to self-destructive code (as was common with any suicidal thoughts) and that his energon was low _again_ , Sentinel reached for his visor… readying himself for the dive and wanting to see everything with his own optics, but then he heard a shifting noise behind him.

Turning and for the briefest of flashes he was sure that Elita had been standing there beaming at him, but then the world shifted quickly back to reality and his spark’s hope was drown out by a bulky femme’s voice, “I wouldn’t get to close to that hole if I were you. The ground beneath us is a cavern, the soil is unstable and there is still radiation from the ship that exploded.”

Hand pulling away from his visor, Sentinel tried to play dumb as he spoke to Sonic Trip, “Oh… I was just going to see if I could see the bottom.”

Shaking her head, smiling bitterly, she murmured, “That cave is deep. When the ship exploded, it opened even more underground caverns. Some say that that explosion was where the techno-organics came from. There have been a few teams that have gone down and tried to investigate but the spiders are very defensive against Cybertronians. Some think it’s because they still remember those kids that made their way down there.”

“Kids?” whispered Sentinel, knowing all too well what she meant.

“Yeah, there were some Autobrats looking for treasure. They found it all right but they also found a hoard of spiders… one of the kids even deactivated I hear. A sad tale indeed,” murmured the femme. “But you knew that story already, didn’t you?”

Surprised, optics going wide, he found no reason to deny it, “How did you know?”

Chuckling, getting closer to the edge of the pit, she stared down into the deep darkness for a moment before looking Sentinel in the visor and murmuring, “Of all the teams I’ve taken here, you are the first one to find this place on your own. You didn’t even get lost. So I can only presume that you didn’t come here for organics, did you?”

Frowning, part of him wanting to lie, he found he couldn’t. He didn’t want his last moments to be a lie. Sighing, his words were soft, “You are right … I actually think organics are gross. I just want… I just wanted,” _to jump…,_ “to visit her. The femme that died here. I just wanted to talk with her.”

“So you are an Autobot then?” she asked, her coy expression softening as if she was a mother listening to a sad story, the fading light reflecting off her bulky Con-like form.

He merely glared at her, bitterly spitting, “Just leave me be… I’ve waited a long time to come and see her.”

Putting her hands up, gaining a far more serious expression, Sonic Trip grumbled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. If talking to her will give your some closure though … I will leave you to it. Just don’t stay out here when it gets dark, kid, okay?”

Nodding, uncertain if he would be glad or not if she looked for his body when he didn’t come back, Sentinel murmured, “I understand.”

Stepping away from the pit, a stone falling into the cataclysm, she gave a soft smile and started to walk away, only to halt and whisper over her shoulder, “It’s more of an organic thing, the few species we’ve ran into, but sometime organics will leave flowering plants for the dead, pretty ones to signify love and loss or something. There might even be some blooming plants in the valley down the way… I’m sure she would like for you to give her some.”

Sentinel turned his head to look at the large femme, caring little that there was fluid dripping from under his visor as he whispered, “Elita would love that.”

Nodding, not wanting to witness such a sad expression of old pain, the femme turned and walked away without another word, leaving the ex-Prime to his miseries.

Watching her fade into the distance, Sentinel thought it best she left. Now, he just had to get some plant blooms and a little courage and then he could end this. It wouldn’t be hard at all.

_Not at all._

…

“There is something strange about that Rift Ring. Most of the time he doesn’t even react when I call him by his name,” murmured Aquila as he stopped staring at his fossil specimen, Skyfire and the other’s around the fire.

It wasn’t that they were cold or even needed the light, it was just that Sonic Trip told them that most organics feared fires … except for intelligent organics which none of them were afraid of. Intelligent organics were not overly common which was surprising given that organic planets were far more reoccurring then metallic based ones like Cybertron or their colonies.

“He is a strange one, kind of distant, but he reacted with an intelligent organic society! I am so excited to go over all the pictures and readings he had in his immediate systems… It seems that he was kind of scared of them though,” said Skyfire in excitement, the long trip leaving the scientists and the _neutral_ time to talk. Rift Ring seemed kind of cut off and depressed during the whole trip but at least he had some great stories.

All the scientists were more than tickled pink when he kindly gave them the coordinates for this Earth. Though … it was interesting when he said he was not going to go there again so they were free to have the location.

“Yeah … it’s like he’s hiding something. There are a lot of gaps in his background,” murmured Aquila, his visor becoming bright.

“Yes, his background did quite lack in supporting evidence,” agreed Graph as he looked at his jarred flora.

Sonic Trip, walking into camp, dropped some more dry fuel onto the fire and frowned, “Well, he doesn’t seem to be any harm. A little bit of a jerk maybe, but he seems to have good intentions.”

The other scientists all looked at each other and then Graph and Aquila both nodded in agreement as the jet spoke, “No, I don’t trust him. He’s up to something.”

“Me either. He definitely must not be trusted. He’s lying,” added Graph.

Not wanting everyone to turn on a mech that was just visiting an old friend, Sonic Trip sighed and found no point in hiding the truth from the scientists. It might actually be best if the other’s understood. Sighing, sitting down, she murmured, “Calm down, calm down. Now, let me just say, the reason you feel like Rift Ring is lying is because he is lying.”

“Knew it!”

“He is kind of shifty.”

“Stop,” said the femme before the more paranoid members of the group could escalate this out proportion and start a witch hunt. “It’s not what you think. He’s just a kid … that came here to say good bye to a friend.”

“A friend,” murmured Inquis, finally speaking in his deep purring voice. “I don’t understand. There are no inhabitants on this planet.”

Sighing, hopping the Autobot (what else would he be?) wouldn’t be offended, Sonic Trip murmured, “You know that cavern where the Decepticon ship blew up? Well, let’s just say he’s been there before and he came back to say goodbye to some sad memories.”

Skyfire was the first to get the reference, signing, “Oh, poor kid. I remember that a team tried to get recover some items from the site. They didn’t find a body, though they weren’t down there long with all the giant spiders and radiation. I wish he would have told us the truth though. We could have been more supportive.”

“I don’t take him as the type to accept hugs from strangers, brother,” said Aquila, the far bitterer of the two jet twins. “But that wasn’t what I meant. What I meant was … I … I heard him talking to himself.”

Static Charge actually chuckled at this, the fire crackling between all of them. “I think all of us have talked to ourselves on more than one occasion. Speak our ideas aloud and the sooner they will come to pass as the saying goes.”

“Yes…” admitted Aquila. “But we know we are speaking to ourselves … Rift acted like someone was listening. As if he was … psychologically unsound.”

Skyfire frowned at this, asking his brother, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I didn’t want to turn back. Everyone has been looking forward to this trip,” said Aquila, trying not to meet his brother’s glare.

“Fine, fine. He might just be weird. Regardless … it’s getting dark. Sonic Trip, let’s go check on him. Just in case … something crawled out of that cavern.”

…

Elita swung her legs over the cavern, her form looking almost normal like in the old days. That is … until she turned her head. Half of her jaw was ripped away and revealing her denta and tongue.

She tilted her head as if nothing was wrong and stared at the blue mech as he stared down at the pit, the specter murmuring, _‘I like the flowers. It is a wonderful gift … even if they are organic. They are beautiful, but … how long are you going to stand there? I’m tired of this decaying form. I just want to hold you… to join our souls in the afterlife. Please don’t make me wait any longer.’_

Sentinel sighed, feeling the temperature drop as the sun started to set. He didn’t know why he was delaying this. Elita was getting impatient and really … what purpose was there in stalling? His life was over. His soul was violated, his career was over, and when he needed them the most … it seemed that he had no real friends to speak of. No one to stand and defend him.

“You are right … I guess I’m just afraid of the pain,” he murmured as he looked over the bouquet in his hands, the flowers beautiful with their pinks and yellows but sadly already wilting. So was life he supposed.

‘ _You have suffered worse_ ,’ Elita murmured, bringing up a decaying hand as she motioned towards his form.

He nodded, his whole form twitching as his survival programs ran wild in his head, struggling and racing and trying to delete his current thoughts of suicide. His systems were trying their darnest to save him, but his resolve was decided and yet he found himself asking, almost like a scared child, “Did it hurt? When you died, Elita?”

Turning the ruined part of her face away, she looked down at the hole, her voice almost a whisper, _‘Not as much as the betrayal … as you watched me fall, but that doesn’t hurt anymore. You’re here now.’_

Then, rising up, rust seeming to fall into the sand as she decayed a little more right in front of his optics, she put out a hand. ‘ _Now, fall with me._ ’

Swallowing, his systems so erratic he felt dizzy, he slowly nodded and took her hand. And, surprisingly, he felt her hand beneath his. He actually took a shocked breath in, having never been able to touch her before. Then, his resolve to do this restored, he nodded his head. He would not fail her now. Not right now. Not here, again.

Then, throwing the flowers into the pit, he murmured, “I’ll never leave you again.”

Without a second thought, an elation overcoming his fear, he watched her take the first step into the chasm and suddenly fall downward … and he allowed her to drag him downward as well into the depths, their hands intertwined. And, not wanting to see his end, he offlined his optics and almost laughed at his last thought: _So this is what it felt like to fly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last chapter … just letting you know.


	12. Spark Ache

Jazz’s hands were twitching. Ultra Magnus was mad. Optimus had some kind of stress attack a few Mega-cycles ago (apparently his spark had had some kind of freak out, nothing serious) and was in the infirmary being dotted over. The space colonies were mad because their requests weren’t falling through the proper communication chains. And basically, the whole building was pissed because Communications … it wasn’t happening even with every minute Jazz could spare to help Cliffjumper with paperwork. Jazz had actually had to stop Ultra Magnus from going down to Sentinel’s office himself and demanding why there were errors in the paperwork; why emails were all that were allow; why there were no meetings attended and why Sentinel allowed no one in his office.

Personally, Jazz was only mad because Cliffjumper hadn’t reported when Sentinel had gotten back into the office. He was due back Mega-cycles ago. In fact, he was due back around the time Optimus had had his collapse. Jazz hadn’t been nearby when Optimus collapsed but Ultra Magnus apparently had had a scare. He had never heard the old mech raise his voice before but apparently that old mech could call for a medic. It seems that, while Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime were heading through the main lobby, Optimus had suddenly stalled and grabbed at his chassis with a cry of pain. He then collapsed without further warning.  

That had been a drama filled day.

Breathing, trying to not let anger overcome him, Jazz turned the corner and stalled for a moment, frowning. Cliffjumper looked _terrible_. He was typing away like a madman and there was this ringing from multiple lines demanding his attention. Unicron’s beard, this was a mess. Yes, he was helping with emailed cases but he never imagined that Cliffjumper was this strung out.

Jazz’s lip couldn’t help but twitch in irritation.

Why wasn’t Sentinel helping him with this mess?

Coming up to the other’s desk, he watched Cliffjumper’s face fall, his optics looking tired and worn. He even swallowed nervously before he asked, ignoring the phones, “W-what can I do for you today, Jazz?”

Frowning hard, the ninja-bot grumbled, “Red, I thought I asked you to give me the low down when SP, I mean SM, came back. Where is he? Why isn’t he helping you? Is he even in his office or is he at home, moping still? He could get a dishonorly discharged if he doesn’t get back here and clean up this mess.”

Optics going wide, hands staling, Cliffjumper wanted to lie. He wanted to protect his superior… but he couldn’t protect a mech he wasn’t even sure was an Autobot anymore. Swallowing, feeling tired, Cliffjumper admitted, “He’s not in his office.”

Jazz’s lip twitched, anger bubbling in his spark. He was still a little angry over the whole hammer incident, but he knew that now wasn’t the time to confront Sentinel about his behavior while he was Magnus. Right now, the younger mech needed a little support, his dream torn from him. And maybe a swift kick in the aft. But, honestly, sometimes the things a person wants most isn’t what they should have.

Sighing, feeling defeated, Jazz asked, “Is he hiding out in his flat?”

Cliffjumper wilting even more. Frankly, he could no longer find a reason to lie for Sentinel Minor. So he didn’t.

“He’s not at home.”

Optic’s twitching behind his visor, Jazz wanted to be angry at the ex-Prime’s behavior but he kept his cool, “Then where is he? He’s not passed out drunk on some foreign beach, is he?”

So tired, so dragged down and exhausted from all the extra work he really didn’t have the clearance or expertise to do, Cliffjumper broke down, begging almost, “ _I don’t know!_ I don’t know where that jerk he is. I went to his flat and had the door opened and nothing was missing. Most of his things seem to be there. I’ve checked every day and there’s nothing but dust there! I even tracked down his flight ticket and the hotel and the resort he was going to …”

Cliffjumper was now rambling on, his frame was shaking in so much rage that he hadn’t even noticed the horrified expression that was slowly overcoming Jazz’s face.

“… And the local Prime for that colony and no one has seen him! They said he didn’t even get off the flight. I don’t even think he got on the flight! I don’t know where he is! I just thought he was drunk this whole time and … and,” Cliffjumper met Jazz’s gaze, his tone suddenly become soft and tired, “I thought he abandoned our beliefs … until I search his flat again. His weapons were all there as well as a large amount of credits and long-term necessities. I don’t know why he didn’t bring his weapons. A good soldier always takes his weapons … W-what if something happened to him? What if the Cons go him? What if he ran off? What if he did something stupider then getting drunk on a beach?!”

Looking at all the paperwork on his desk, Jumper sagged back into his chair, looking vorns older than he was, “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Jazz, his mind running over a few worse case scenarios, struggled to keep calm, to tell himself not to depend too much on CJ’s words thought a part of him knew that Cliffjumper was correct. After all, he was a Communications Officer. Jumper knew how to research and collect information, that was what Communications did, so his reason for panic was justified.

Calling upon an inner calm so he wouldn’t completely freak out, Jazz walked behind the red mech’s desk and placed a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder.

“Cool your jets, CJ. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for this. Just give me what you’ve researched already and I’ll double check everything before we call in the fire-trucks, kay?” asked Jazz calmly though his spark was jumping around like a firework lit inside.

Trying to ignore the _CJ_ comment, for he did not need any nicknames, Cliffjumper nodded his head and then quickly started pulling up the information he had, his spark a little calmer … if only because he had someone to panic with.

…

The evidence was not good, to say the least. CJ, a nickname that Cliffjumper stated he didn’t want, deserved to be in communications. He was great at collecting data and deserved his post. Yet, even though secrecy and information protection was something required of Communications, this was something that CJ should not have kept to himself after he discovered that Sentinel had never made it to his intended destination. So, there were a lot of worse case scenarios running rampant in the ninja-bot’s mind but he did not want to give any of them life until he was sure.

After all, Sentinel could have jumped ship early with a stewardess somewhere and was too busy being stranded and drunk to care about e-mails from his underlings.

Though, as much as he wanted to believe that it was something that simple, a deeper part of Jazz was convinced it was not. Sentinel _never_ left his weapons. He might not have had the post he did or the clearance that he once did but he was still an important mech. Why would he leave the planet defenseless, with no way to defend himself? Who would leave their apartment without at least their basic weapon?

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong which was why he was taking a lesson from Cliffjumper and was not going to make the same mistake. He wasn’t going to keep this to himself. He needed help … though he was going to ignore the _Big Guy_ if he could help it which was why he was heading to Optimus Prime’s hospital room. He had visited the other day and the Prime looked good after his collapse despite an occasional wince due to a sore spark. Luckily, the attack wasn’t life threatening from what the medics could tell, but Ultra Magnus would not allow his Second out of that medical berth until they knew why Optimus collapsed in the middle of the floor clutching at his chassis as if he had been stabbed.

Honestly, Jazz really didn’t want to call in a favor while a mech was on medical leave but Optimus did have higher standing then him and more power … enough power to get a few other Primes to do as he asked as discretely as possible. There was still the possibility that Sentinel was drunk somewhere.

Struggling to press on his usual grin, Jazz nodded to some passing nurse-bots who giggled as he walked by. He might have even called after them and hit on them a little but he had more important things to worry about … like not freaking out on the poor bot behind this very door.

Sighing, his engine feeling overheated, Jazz quickly knocked on Optimus’ door. He almost jumped though when Optimus finally called out, “Come in.”

Opening the door, glad to have someone to share his burdens with, Jazz nearly broke down into a fit when he opened the door only to find _Ultra Magnus_ sitting next to Optimus’ berth side. The big man certainly was concerned about his next in line, almost dotting. It was like he had always wanted Optimus to have the status of Second … and that Sentinel had merely been _just acceptable_ but nothing more. Not that Ultra Magnus was forward with his favoritism but sometimes one could just tell.

“Oh, hey, Ultra Magnus. _Optimus_ , I didn’t know you had guests. I will come back later than you cool cats,” grinned Jazz, trying not to sound disappointed or out of character.

Optimus, always cheerful and sometimes a little dull witted given his good side, merely stated from his berth, “No, stay. Ultra Magnus just decided to give me support … my test results are in and Ratchet’s off planet so I needed someone around in case it is something … negative.”

Jazz wilted, suddenly feeling like the scum of the cosmos. Here Optimus was, terribly stressed and tired and shaken, and he was trying to call in a favor. Yes, he wasn’t there when Optimus collapsed but he knew that the mech had had chassis pains even after the initial attack. Some would have thought it was a spark attack if OP wasn’t so young.

Pressing down his guilt, Jazz tried to lay on his usual charm, “Prime … you’re going to be just fine. A fine lanky mech as yourself. The medic’s going to say drink this sludge, sleep for three Mega-Cycles and then go dancing  … You’re stressing yourself out.”

Optimus offered a nervous smile at Jazz’s calming charisma though Ultra Magnus kept his usual stern visage. Not that Jazz was insulted by Ultra Magnus’ reaction. That was just how he did things.

“That would be great … Regardless though, why are you here? You look a little downtrodden Jazz. Do you have something you need?” asked Optimus, his eyes drawn to the digi-file in Jazz’s hands. It was now second nature for lower ranks to come to him with paperwork that needed to be signed.

The ninja-bot looked down at the file CJ had given him, suddenly feeling kind of sick. He could not lay this on the kid’s shoulder’s right now, even though Optimus had been a good friend to SM … especially with Big Blue sitting right there. He personally wanted to keep this issue from the commanding officer for as long as possible, if not forever.

“Nah, OP … just some files.”

Ultra Magnus though had known Jazz far too long to fall for the ninja-bot’s ruse. For mere paperwork Jazz would never bother an ailing mech. Something was up with the usually charismatic mech.

Knowing that he had to take action or lose the chance with the fast-legged ninja-bot, Ultra Magnus spoke.

“If it’s something important Jazz, do not feel ashamed to ask. Optimus is merely on berth rest, he is not dismissed from duty, and if it’s something I can do in his stead I would be happy to,” said Ultra Magnus, kindly and professional as always as he sat back in the waiting chair.

Jazz had to struggle to keep his grin from faltering. Yeah … that would not end well.

Quickly pulling his smile back up, Jazz pretended to care little for the file as he slowly started back towards the exit. “It can wait, big man. I’ll just be goin’.”

Magnus gained a slightly irritated glare as he spoke coolly and quickly before the saboteur could make a dashing escape, “ _Jazz_ … Please give me the digi-pad. I would _hate_ for something that requires attention to be ignored.”

Jazz, halfway through the doorway, stalled and turned around, smiling in order to continue the ruse, still backing out of the door, “It’s not being ignored. I’m given it all my loving attention. So, get better Prime. Talk to you later Magnus.”

“ _Jazz_ …” said Ultra in his no-nonsense voice, his deep voice stalling Jazz’s steps completely. “Don’t make me make that an order.”

Jazz swallowed, feeling two sets of blue optics burrow under his armor. Ultra Magnus rarely spoke in that tone and if he didn’t think of something fast … Sentinel was as good as discharged. Luckily for the ninja-bot, a distraction walked right into him, the medic bot nearly causing both of them to fall to the floor.

It was Optimus’ med-bot.

“Oh, oh, excuse me,” said the med-bot, his door wings rising in surprise as he stepped to the side so Jazz, accidently trapping him in the room. “I didn’t know Optimus Prime had guests. I can come back later.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Ultra Magnus as he rose to his feet, towering over his elusive ninja-bot, his tone not demanding but chilly. “We came here to support Optimus, didn’t we Officer Jazz? Whatever the news might be.”

Jazz tried not to pout as Ultra gave him that almost bored look. Most would think Ultra Magnus was just stiff but no … his optics could bore into a soul with that look and when Ultra placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, directing the ninja-bot to the now-empty chair, Jazz knew a confession was at hand. Shoulder’s sagging, feeling like Sentinel would never forgive him for this, Jazz gave a stiff nod and choked as he sat in Ultra Magnus’ chair, the Magnus towering over him like an old guard dog, “Yes, I came to support Optimus Prime.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” said the young medic warmly thought he did give Optimus a taunt smile as he asked, “Are you sure that you want them to hear your diagnosis though, Optimus Prime?”

Giving a waning smile, he nodded from his berth, “It can’t be that bad … can it?”

The young medic offered no smile as he shut the door behind him, pulling out a digi-pad which undoubtedly had OP’s diagnosis on it. Rip Joint, the medic, sighed and stood at the foot of Optimus’ berth, the Prime sitting up though he had been instructed to rest until a diagnosis could be obtained.

Trying to act as professional as possible, Rip Joint came out with the basic truth, usually very blunt, “It was bond shock which caused you to collapse. It was likely a weak bond considering there is no damage or scarring to your spark or spark casing. Overall, the backlash from the damaged bond caused your spark to sputter and shut down your systems. Nothing deadly but you will be sore which means no _sexual_ spark activity for a few orns until the shock wears off and then you should be fine. In fact, you are fit for duty thought I wouldn’t recommend any epic battles until your spark calms down.”

Jazz actually choked at the news, feeling like he had just been punched in the abdomen plating. His words were a weary whisper as his thoughts immediately turned to Sentinel … _and the worst case scenario_. “You mean someone offlined.”

The medic, giving a grim expression, slowly nodded, “Yes … that can be the case.”

“But,” said Optimus as his face dragged into a horrored expression, part of him watching Jazz cover his own face as if in misery. “I don’t have a bond-mate. I’ve never even been w-with a femme or mech t-that intimately.”

Shifting on his feet, the medic throwing glances at the slowly decaying Jazz, he added, “Well, sometimes bonds form just from being with someone for a long time like brother bonds or caretaker bonds.”

A terrified expression quickly covered Optimus’ face as if the medic had just told him his creators were dead. Noticing that he was about to have two panicking mechs in the room, the medic struggled to find the words, “B-but it can also mean that a developing bond was _almost_ extinguished and not necessarily _was_. Like I said, there is no way to tell since the bond was still in its developing stages, weak from lack of contact. All I can recommend is that you contact anyone that you’ve been intimate with or anyone you’ve spent a long amount of time with … to make sure they are still alive, I mean _alright_.”

Optimus could only sit back against his berth, stricken with the thought of who it was. Who had he loved just enough to forget so easily? Elita? Was it backlash from Prowl? Who could it be?

A sniffle from Jazz seemed to answer his question as the mech broke down into his sorrows, his engine hiccupping as tears started to stream from under his visor. Ultra Magnus seemed flabbergast for a moment as his usually upbeat soldier did a complete one-eighty for bad news that wasn’t even meant of him.

Optimus, meanwhile, could only stare in dismay wondering why his new friend was acting this way, but before he could even ask Jazz what was wrong, Ultra Magnus got down on one knee and tried to console his soldier, asking softly, “Officer Jazz, what is it? What’s wrong? This is not like you.”

Jazz, his mind positive that SP had passed away without anyone even noticing except for an aching spark, couldn’t even find the words to speak. Instead, for what do the dead need with a reputation, Jazz slowly offered up the file to his superior.

Ultra Magnus, pulling away from his soldier, shared a confused look with Optimus before he turned on the file. There was a moment of stony silence before Ultra Magnus sighed and gave Jazz a tired and exhausted look, “Jazz … don’t worry. I’m sure Optimus’ spark attack has nothing to do with this. I’m sure Sentinel is _fine_.”

Optimus, on the other hand, felt like he had been stabbed in the spark again as his superior said his old friend’s name. It was then and there that Optimus knew the bond’s name and who it belonged to. It had belonged to Sentinel and now it was probably quiet forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep … I made Jazz cry. A short chapter but I figured it was time for a little Optimus and gang time … and just to irritate you guys a little more. :D


	13. Painful Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a super short chapter, but I felt you guys needed it after the last chapter’s cliff hanger. Later.

**Rebooting. Memory recovery ……………………………. 17%.**

The world was shaking. The edges blurred and blackened like both of his optics were shattered. And there was the sound of shivering vents and something blocking out the light, something large.

**Rebooting. Memory recovery ………………………….. 29%.**

The blur was screaming and panicking and now there was another blur next to it. They were touching him. These blurs were _touching him_ and he was in so much pain, but at least he was going numb. The pain was fading and the jagged things pressing into him … he could barely feel them anymore. There was a wetness though. He could feel it rushing away from his form, sickened by his existence probably. But the blurs were now touching him, pulling and pressing at things that had been numb, pushing the leaking back.

They were keeping him in pain, keeping away the _pull_.

Elita had said it would barely hurt.

She lied to him, but why would she lie to him? She had always been so good to him.

**Rebooting. Memory recovery ……………………….. 49%.**

Something was lifting him. The blurs now murmurings like they were trying to speak. Then, there was a roar, like an engine in the distance and soon another blur joined the others. This one was still for a moment before it started helping the other two, poking and prodding and pressing the pain back into his spark.

**Rebooting. Memory recovery ……………………… 62%**

Sentinel was sure someone had screamed but he didn’t know who it was. All he knew was that the world was shaking back and forth like someone was running. And the metal at his side was warm like someone had picked him up. Was that Primus? Was Primus holding him?

He hoped so though a deeper part of him told him no.

No … No, the world still hurt too much.

**Rebooting. Memory Recovery …………………….. 81%**

There was then a blinding light, artificial and what felt like a dozen voices standing over him. He felt like he was on a berth. Perhaps this was the part of deactivation that everyone talked about … the part when you fell asleep. But contradictory to that thought, there was a hand sliding a cable into the back of his neck and the world threatened to fall away into nothingness, but just then another system onlined.

**Rebooting. Memory Recovery …………………….. 100%. Systems online.**

…

At first there was static, his HUB resetting itself and recovering his last few moments of thought … and then there was pain, a thousand aches and deep sharp agony like plates deep inside him were rubbing against each other. He also felt muggy like energon was sticking to his inner mechanisms. It reminded him of the feeling he got when his knee joint blew an energon line, his warm liquid seeping between plates. That was a minor injury then … but this felt like it was everywhere. In every seam.

Beside himself, he found himself choking out the only person he could count on, her voice always so steady like a clam sea to wash over him. And though he could barely speak, energon suddenly oozing out of his mouth, he called out, “E-e-ll-ita.”

“Frag, he’s onlining!” cried one of the colored blurs. “Frag! Does the emergency kit have any pain killers, anything to knock him out! I can’t have him moving when I’m trying … to put this mess back together! Frag! Skyfire I don’t have training for this! I know basic first aid … Not bot jigsaw pieces!”

“ _Calm_ _down_ Aquila. You are doing fine. I’ll disconnect his motor functions so he doesn’t move,” murmured a deep baritone voice, an orange blur leaning down. “I’ll see if I can deaden some of his systems … especially the ones below his waist.”

“You mean for his legs! He barely has one left!” came Aquila’s panicked voice.

And yet that same baritone voice calmly murmured, “Calm down, everyone. We don’t have time to panic and we don’t have time to call for help. We need to stabilize him here and now or Rift Ring will not survive. We are all trained in the basic forms of medicine. We can save him.”

“…But what if he doesn’t want to be saved,” said Aquila’s voice again.

For a moment, the clinking of tools and the hands pressing onto his body stalled, Skyfire’s voice barely above a whisper, “Don’t say things like that.”

“But what if it’s true,” bit back Aquila, his anger obvious.

“All the more reason we should do something,” growled Skyfire, his tone far more volatile than most had ever heard it.

For a moment there was a stuttering of vents and suddenly Sentinel felt like he was choking, like the voices were no longer important, his vents suddenly feeling clogged. There was a sudden skirmish above the dying mech, heavy footsteps running around him.

“Fraggen pit, his vents must have energon bleeding into them. We need to get his chassis open. _Now_ ,” growled Aquila, taking action again even though part of him was probably scared as hell with the way his servos were shaking as he struggled to unlatch Sentinel’s chassis.

After a few moments of bumbling fingers, Inquis’ baritone voice spoke, “Take a vent, still your hands. Let me get him open.”

Those thick fingers were removed from Sentinel’s stinging chassis as a pair of thinner hands reached down, energon pulling all around them as Sentinel’s pump struggled to keep energon circulating. The Prime did not miss the hiss of his chassis sliding open … nor the gasps that followed after.

“Oh Primus… that’s not what I think it is, is it?”

“Unless that unison gasp was merely because we all think a blue spark a rare thing,” grumbled Aquila.

“This is not the time for sarcasm,” barked Inquis, sounding impatient. “If anything it is all the more reason to save him. There is more in the balance here than Rift Ring’s life. Come now, clear those vents. His systems are struggling and we … don’t need him to accidentally abort it.”

…

Meanwhile, not too far from the small little medical room with far too many half-bred mechs in it, sat Sonic Trip in the pilot’s chair. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. There was just so much energon. There was just so much of it. They might not have even gone down into that pit if Skyfire didn’t have such powerful scanners.

When they went down there, about to curse the mech for crawling down on that mangy rope that rescue team had left vorns ago, they quickly discovered that Rift Ring had not climbed down into the pit.

He had fallen into the pit.

Rift Ring luckily, or unluckily, had not fallen the full way into the cavern. He had crashed onto an outcropping so he hadn’t fallen all the way to the bottom of the cave. Regardless, he still had fallen far enough and there were those rock. Like knifes those rocks were with the way they had pressed through the blue mech’s armor like it was nothing, leaving gaping holes and … nearly ripping off one leg.

Not that the leg hadn’t come off when they started moving him … and the energon. How it poured like water, leaving a pool and staining her hands. It was like a horror movie and even now, especially with how the science bots had acted. They hadn’t been able to drag the half-dead mech into their ship’s small medical bay fast enough. She was left out here, still covered in it. Energon. It had dried on her hands and chassis, and it was all over the floor.

She tried to keep her cool, acting like she had seen this before. She even directed Graph to pack up camp because as soon as they got Rift Ring stable enough to move, she was moving the ship. That had felt like groons ago before Graph stumbled into the pilot’s den. For a moment he stared at her, almost with pity as he watched her hands shake.

Sitting down next to her in the co-pilot’s seat, he slowly reached out a servo and wrapped his fingers around hers. Calm. His words were just as composed. “They said they got him somewhat stable and … there was a complication. So we have to get moving. _Now_.”

Though her hands were still shaking, she pulled them from the grounder and started flipping switches to pull the ship into the bleakness of space. She had to ask though, had to know why Graph looked ailing and yet was so calm. Unlike her right now.

“Apparently, there is more than one life on the line here,” Graph stalled, his tongue seeming heavy as he struggled to find the words. “Rift Ring … was … I mean _is_ with spark.”

Sonic Trip felt her spark shift, a sickness settling deep into her form.

“Rift Ring … is Heavy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Character List: 
> 
> Aquila: is a large cargo jet and twin brother to Skyfire. He was parented by a Con and an Autobot. Has purple optics. Is like-minded like Skyfire but is more stoic in attitude. He also has a somewhat distrustful mindset.
> 
> Sonic Trip: is the science groups guide and adventurer. She is a femme and is decorated in heavy-ding proof armor. She has yellow optics and a bulky Con-like structure 
> 
> Graph: is a medium grounder with a visor that probably hides purple optics.
> 
> Inquis: a mech of pale orange and hovering flyer. Has soft mannerisms and has a gravelly voice that one would not think would belong to such a small body.
> 
> Rift Ring: the alias Sentinel uses.
> 
> (Revisions January 2016)


	14. Weeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year.

His chassis felt so heavy. It was pressing down on him, suffocating him, but whenever his vents would stall from the pain he would feel an irritating tube down his throat kick in and force his system to stutter into action again.

It became so frustrating trying to ventilate on his own that he finally onlined his optics, deciding that he was going to reach up a hand and remove the pit-slaggen thing. Yet, two things went wrong immediately. First, when he tried to online his optics … nothing happened. They were completely disconnected. And when he tried to jerk his arms, he noticed that he could not move them.

It felt like he was restrained.

Panic filling his spark, he started tugging on his restraints despite the wailing that started to come from his left. He didn’t care about the ache in his body or the numbness below his waist or how there were now multiple machines screeching at him. He wanted out!

He barely even noticed that there were a set of panicked footsteps in the room until there were hands upon him, whispering to him, trying to speak to him... Someone was even holding his hand. Said hand was so much larger than his, warmer than his even.

It took a few cycles for him to realize that the voices were not yelling or hurting him or physically restraining him, which was surprising. After all, he had just tried to kill himself. That was probably was he was restrained to a berth, wasn’t it?

Struggling to calm his pump, to vent in cool air and regain clear-headedness, Sentinel slowly stopped struggling against the restraints. Thankfully, someone finally removed the tube, allowing him to speak. His voice was shaky as he choked, “W-where am I? What’s going on?”

One of the voices, probably the one to his left and that was currently rubbing his shoulder soothingly, murmured in a deep baritone voice, “There we go, calm down. You’re safe. You are safe. The restraints are for your own protection so you don’t aggravate your wounds any further.”

 _And to keep you from trying to hurt yourself if it was a suicide attempt_ thought Inquis bitterly.

Nodding his head though a deep part of him was really frightened with how odd his body felt and the complete and total lack of feeling from below his waist, Sentinel asked the most prominent question on his mind, “W-why can’t I see?”

There was a deep sigh, the voice immediately recognizable as Skyfire’s given how often he spoke on the trip to the spider planet. It was a soothing voice, kind and intelligent. It was something not easily forgotten.

“Both of your _blue_ optics were damaged,” said Skyfire carefully before he asked, “Is there a reason why you hid that you were an Autobot? Blue optics aren’t exactly a neutral’s color.”

Sentinel’s hands slowly became fists, the metal creaking slightly because his digits did not escape entirely unscathed.

After a few nano-clicks of silence, Inquis sighed and murmured, “There’s no point in denying it. Sonic Trip told us about your conversation at the edge of cavern. How you came to visit the _Autobot_ femme’s graves. The question that only remains though … is if you _jumped_ or fell.”

Sentinel felt his spark lock up and part of him wanted to turn his head way from that voice in shame, but he still had some of his pride. Just enough that he would keep telling himself that he did not regret his actions … though a different part of his spark told him that he _did_ regret his actions. Greatly. It had been cowardly.

“Inquis,” came Skyfire’s cool voice. “He just woke. Now is not the time for that.”

“I think it is,” said the scientist in a very professional way. “If he did jump, we should start administering code that will help him cope with his grievances and so we know if he can be left alone until we get back to Docker City. Given the types of visitors we have to Docker City … we all know a suicidal mech or femme is not to be left alone until they get some proper console.”

Skyfire huffed in his vents, almost seeming tired before he relented in the other’s cool and physiological sound reasoning, “Proceed.”

“From what I understand,” said the scientist who was obviously a fan of the mental sciences as well as organic. “Sonic Trip warned you about the cavern’s precarious standings so a normal mech would have been cautious. So I don’t think you fell. You jumped. There is no doubt in my mind that you did. In fact, I believe something drove you there, to the femme that meant so much to you in the past. A last comfort, if you will.”

“And why would you think that?” murmured Sentinel, his voice seeming weak and worn though he was trying to be snide.

“Well, given our examination of your failing body … we all noticed something,” Inquis’ words seemed very cautious at this point, which made Sentinel weary. “Tell me, has there been a traumatic event recently? Something that was very hard for you to deal with?”

Sentinel couldn’t help but note that Skyfire shifted in the background as if nervous.

“Why do care? So what if I jumped or fell?” murmured Sentinel as he continued to glare at the ceiling even though all of them knew he couldn’t see a pit-forsaken thing and yet … there was this deep feeling of foreboding in Inquis’ words like there was something even the blunt and forward mech did not wish to say.

Inquis sighed at Rift Ring’s cold tone, throwing Skyfire a look. It had to be said. Skyfire had been at Rift Ring’s side this whole time, the slow nearly orn-long flight back to Docker City. It was obvious that he cared for this mech’s well being greatly. So, giving Skyfire a cheerless look, he motioned a hand over Sentinel’s belly and Skyfire quickly shook his head. He didn’t want to go there, especially with the way Rift Ring was acting. He was acting too cool and collected for a mech that had nearly offlined. A mech that had fallen accidently would be grateful and weeping … Rift Ring seemed disappointed. The truth was as obvious as a Con having red optics.

“When else are we going to tell him? He’s not going to be blind forever,” murmured the flier coolly.

“He’s not ready,” came Skyfire’s voice, strained.

“And I’d rather know now if he will be a danger to it or not. You know Docker City’s laws on the issue and I have an idea what Cybertron’s are. And it’s so far along, way over the halfway point. We have to know now so we can either head to Docker City or to Cybertron. It’s his choice for health care,” said Inquis calmly.

Sentinel listened quietly to the two scientists’ words. A part of him wanted to get off that berth and run away. Something horrible was about to be said. He had no doubt in his mind, and yet he remained quiet because a deep part of him _wanted_ to know. It was the part of his mind that sounded oddly like Elita, and she was saying that he _already_ knew what they were talking about.

“Tell me Rift Ring, if that is indeed your name, did … Oh this is much harder than I thought it would be,” murmured the bot to himself. “Did … Did you decide to come here because of what happened about t-twenty orns ago?”

Sentinel’s lip twitched and he was about to come back with a sassy comment but stalled, his spark skipping a beat as his mind calculated the events that took place during that time.

_The subway … and Soundwave … and Optimus’ golden spark._

Despite himself, his vents hitched and there was a soft sigh of sadness from both of the mechs at his berth side. It was so obvious given the mech’s reaction.

Swallowing, his nervousness evident, Inquis pried slightly, “W-was it consensual? B-because if it was, we need you to contact your partner. He needs to be here ....”

Sentinel’s spark stalled and part of him wanted to hold his tongue, to still his words in like trapped little flies, but he couldn’t quiet his desperation. He gradually whispered, “How did you know that? _How did you know that_!”

He could hear the two mechs press back when his whisper became a scream, Skyfire quickly trying to correct the situation. “Inquis, I think perhaps we should get Rift Ring some energon and forget –”

“Tell me how you know that!” all but yelled the blue mech as he thrashed against his restraints, his tone dark and angry. “Tell me how you know that, or I swear I’ll break out of these restraints and even if I have to crawl, I will rip your-”

“Alright! Alright!” cried Inquis as he placed a calming hand onto Sentinel’s arm, his tone begging, “But you have to remain … in bed.”

Sentinel collapsed onto his berth, jiggling his restraints for a moment as he struggled to vent, his denta baring as he ground out, “Fine … I can’t feel my legs anyway.”

“Well, that’s one thing,” murmured Skyfire before he continued. “So … how did we know? Well, you must remain calm and promise not to-”

“Tell me,” barked the blue mech, rage burning at his spark.

“I-if you insist,” said Skyfire, his voice tense as he whispered. “Well, when we had your chassis cracked open … we saw something we didn’t expect to find. I-I don’t know how else to tell you this, if it is good or bad news for you, but you’re … Heavy. A few orns along and not long off for the dropping of the spark into its shell.”

Sentinel went very still, his hands becoming fists though he didn’t automatically react.

Skyfire, anxious from the other’s silence, asked the question bearing down on the room, thicker than gravity, “Given how you don’t seem excited … this is not a good thing, is it?”

“Get out,” suddenly ground out the crippled mech, cleaner fluid finally falling from the damaged holes in his helm, no optics or sensors to control the flow.

“Rift Ring, please. We need to know if it was consensual? Did you even know you were Heavy?”

“Get out.”

“Have you been taking any metal supplements at all? Any pains? Please, were your forced? Do you want to go to Docker City or Cybertron, be-because … you know Cybertron’s views on sparklings. Docker City’s views are more … flexible if you know what I mean.”

The air was so heavy it could have choke even a fool. Sentinel finally exploded, the machines wailing around him at his increasingly stressed stats.

“Yes, I was _forced_ and he came into me over and over and over again! And I don’t want it!” barked Sentinel, his voice broken and tortured as he yelled up at the ceiling. “Now get out! Get out. _Please_ , just leave me alone!”

Thankfully, if only in pity, the two scientists said they would leave him to his thoughts and the door clicked close. And though he had no idea if the lights were still on or not, he allowed himself to believe he was alone in the dark, wailing with all the energy he had.

He cared very little if anyone heard.

…

Ultra Magnus kept his spine straight as he walked towards the Communications Office. He had just gotten Jazz to calm down about a groon or two ago. The young mech had almost been hysterical. It was obvious that he had been worried for a while now, but it took Optimus’ reaction to get him to react. The young ninja-bot was convinced that Sentinel was offline and that it was somehow his fault.

Being gone nearly four orns did not mean anything though it was foreboding.

First things first, after making Jazz promise to go home and get some rest and for Optimus to get some rest as well, he had to get to the bottom of this problem. And the only way to do that was to start from the beginning.

He was starting to wonder if that superstition about Communications Command being cursed was rightfully a rumor or not. True, the position had apparently had two temporary mechs … that weren’t supposed to be temporary. They said they couldn’t take the stress in their resignation reports though it was most likely they couldn’t take the social pressures.

Shockwave had stained his great military.

Venting slightly in frustration, the large mech’s footsteps echoed, his face cool and stoic as he came up to the Communication’s Desk. A poor red mech was struggling to type and speak on the comm. He looked overall stressed. He didn’t even seem to notice that his superior was standing right in front of him.

‘ _So this is who I have to thank for getting paperwork done … even if he doesn’t have the clearance,’_ though the mech to himself as he struggled to decide how to reprimand the other. Not that he wanted to discipline the frustrated mech, he did a good job given the circumstances. Then again, if he would have asked for help in the beginning they wouldn’t be in this situation. Ultra Magnus also wouldn’t have had to see one of his steadiest soldier’s breakdown in front of him. He was making it a point to call in a few cycles to make sure Jazz got home alright.

“Cliffjumper, I believe,” stated Ultra Magnus when he had become bored with watching how frazzled the poor mech was.

Cliffjumper, for his part, had great reflexes. In less than a nano-click he was to his feet and saluting his superior, “Ultra Magnus, _sir_!”

“At ease,” said the old mech calmly, still trying to decide how to approach the subject. Then, deciding that something straight forward was probably for the best, he murmured, “From what I have been recently informed, Sentinel Minor used his personal time to take a vacation and has not returned. It has been almost over an orn since your discovery that your superior has not returned, correct?”

The red mech gained a horrified expression and then collapsed back into his chair, his expression miserable and panicked.

Magnus, not even missing a beat, continued as he leaned forward so he was now overshadowing the younger bot, “Now, please enlighten me, designation Cliffjumper, why did you not consider it imperative to inform a superior when _your_ superior did not return from his vacation? For that matter, why didn’t you inform a superior that you suspected something was wrong when Sentinel Minor wasn’t answering e-mails or inquiries since the start of his vacation?”

Swallowing, his mind struggling to find the right thing to say, Cliffjumper’s thoughts decided to tell the truth, “I thought he was drunk or passed out, s-sir. That’s what I would have done if I just go demoted. A-and I was trying to remain on his good side, sir.”

“Those are not valid reasons for your actions, soldier. I will have to think of a suitable punishment for your actions,” said Ultra Magnus calmly, hardly surprised as he continued, “But right now I need all the information you have on Sentinel Minor since he left and what his location was supposed to be. We need to send out Primes to find him right away. He might be a Minor, but he once had the status of Magnus which means he has sensitive information about Cybertron.”

Then, tone almost soft, Ultra Magnus add, “I have to find out if he’s been captured by the Decepticons … or something worse.”

Feeling like rust, all Cliffjumper could do was nod in agreement. This was all his fault in some sick way, wasn’t it?

…

Sonic Trip continued to dwell outside of the door for what felt like an eternity listening to the blue mech wail. Even when his screams died down into soft whimpers she did not leave. She knew his pain all too well. She had nearly been aborted because of pain like that, but she had been lucky. Her creator had made a hard choice … even though she knew she would never have blamed her carrier if he had made the other decision.

Rift Ring wasn’t her creator, but there was a goodness in the blue mech that she didn’t want him to have to give up. And given Rift Ring’s reaction to Skyfire’s and Inquis’ words she feared that that goodness would give way to fear and become tarnished. Fear often made decisions that did not necessary display a good mindset, and she … she needed to speak with Rift Ring before they got to Docker City. After all, Docker City was _very good_ at treating rape victims. If the sparklet was weak and not too large yet … it could be abort in an afternoon.

Only once quiet had reined over the room for a few groons did she dare knock.

Silence was the only thing she received. Knocking once more, she slowly opened the door and prayed that the mech hadn’t gotten out of his restraints and tried something _drastic_. Stepping into the room, the femme sighed audibly when she noted that the floor wasn’t covered in bloody energon.

She wasn’t too excited to see that Rift Ring’s head was titled in her direction though.

Standing there awkwardly for a moment, the femme murmured, “O-oh, you’re awake. I didn’t think you were.”

Rift Ring’s empty sockets stared at her for a nano-click before he titled his head back to the ceiling. She knew that he was just titling his head in natural reaction to the sounds around him, but it still kind of freaked her out. She was used to Cons, organics and danger. Problems of the social kind were not her forte.

“I am physically fine. Now go away,” was all he said, his vocals scratchy from his earlier wailing.

“Well … good, because I wanted to talk to you, or to at least have you listen,” she said softly, walking over to one of the medical stools in the room. Sitting on it, she placed her hands on her knees. She knew that she should try to sit more gracefully, to look more feminine like petite femmes always did, but she had long since accepted that she was never going to get a mech based on feminine wiles. Being bulky and apparently _plain_ were not award winning characteristics for romance though she sure could take a beating unlike all those pretty femmes.

She also knew that suffering, when endured, can lead to strength.

“I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say,” he said bitterly, his hands shaking in rage on his berth. “You should have left me where I was. That was what I wanted.”

Titling her head away from the blue mech, a small flame of shame blooming to life in her spark, the femme resisted the urge to get up and leave. Instead, she found herself asking what she felt was a safe question.

“So … have you been able to rest? When we get to Docker City you will need all the rest you can get,” her next words were careful, “especially if you need any operations. The kind of operations that Cybertron wouldn’t do.”

Sentinel’s lips twitched into a heavy frown, his cracked and welded chassis rising as he dragged in a deep vent. He was a moment’s breath from a sob, but somehow he managed to whisper, “Recharge is beyond me. All I dream of are nightmares and regrets.”

Shoulder’s sagging, her optics wandering over the blue mech’s form, she felt like a creator that needed to comfort a hurt and sick youngling. True, she wasn’t very good with younglings, but given her big bulky form, she always felt like a protector. If it was protection from a Con, then so be it. If it was protection from a night’s nightmares … she would try her best. So, thinking of one of the warmest and most meaningful things she could, she spoke.

“I know when I was still young and had nightmares, my father would tell me stories. He told me things to dwell on in my recharge. Things that were so much more important than shifting shadows with scary teeth,” she said softly, her tone complacent almost. “Would you like me to tell you a story to lull you into recharge? There is nothing wrong with accepting a little comfort when you are hurt, Rift Ring.”

Venting air slowly, his body becoming a little less tense, he grumbled, “As if I have much choice … proceed.”

Wringing her hands together, she looked straight at the pained mech, her voice gravely but so very calm. She sounded just like her carrier’s vocals. “I want to tell you an important story. About an ugly little femme with a dark past and yet to her carrier … he was the most beautiful treasure in all the universe. In fact, the ugly little femme always seemed to return home picked on and reminded that she was half Con. A rape-spark at that. Her creator though would take her onto his lap and smile at her. His words were always so true and kind despite the pain of his past. He would always tell her the truth, wiping her tears away as he whispered in her audios. In fact, the most important thing he ever said to her was this: _I would live the night of your conception a thousand times. I would make your genetic sire angry again and again just to gain his cruel attentions … just to have you. The most beautiful part of my spark and the piece that carried me through the torment afterwards, because though that cruel Con thought he had taken something from me … he actually gave me something much more precious._ ”

Sonic Trip struggled to keep her voice even, to keep back the sorrow from her voice though a few lone tears had already fallen down her face plate. This was a very private story to her. It was her story. But if it could help at least one mech … she would tell it. Her father never once was ashamed of her origins so why should she be?

“And so that ugly little femme learned that she was beautiful in some way. She helped her creator just by being there. She was something for him to love and to be loved in return. Thus, she was happy for the rest of her days,” ended the femme, smiling if only to keep from weeping, especially since she felt that part of the ending was a lie. She wasn’t as happy as she would like to be.

Sentinel, his head now turned in her direction, seemed emotionless on the subject and unwilling to say anything.

No longer wanting to be stuck in the uncomfortable silence, especially since such a personal story had been so easily rejected, she rose to her feet. She swayed on her peds for a moment before she chuckled sadly, “Well, yes … I never was good at telling recharge-time stories, but hopefully it will offer your some serenity as you slumber. I-I will be going now.”

Then, wanting to move as fast as she could to the door before he mocked her like everyone from her home city before Docker City, Sentinel spoke softly, knowingly, “There’s only one part of that story that I don’t understand.”

Stalling, swallowing hard, she choked, “And what part is that? Why her creator kept her at all?”

Shaking his head, voice as soft as hers, Sentinel murmured, “Why did she ever think she wasn’t beautiful? She obviously had such a kind and warm spark.”

Swallowing, a small choke of emotion rising up her vocals, she wiped her cheeks and tried to sound sardonic, “… You can’t say that, you’re blind and you’ve never even met her.”

“I don’t need optics to know that,” Sentinel said gently as he turned his head away, his voice seeming tired. “Thank you for the story … It helped. Just a little.”

Her spark swelling, she nodded though there was no way he could see that, her voice shivering, “I-I’m glad it was meaningful. Goodnight, Rift Ring.”

“… Goodnight, Sonic Trip.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paw07: Poor SP. I know it keeps seeming to get worse but I promise … Sentinel will have something warm in his life. Later. 
> 
> Original Character List: 
> 
> Aquila: is a large cargo jet and twin brother to Skyfire. He was parented by a Con and an Autobot. Has purple optics. Is like-minded like Skyfire but is more stoic in attitude. He also has a somewhat distrustful mindset.  
> Sonic Trip: is the science group’s guide and adventurer. She is a femme and is decorated in heavy-ding proof armor. She has yellow optics and a bulky Con-like structure  
> Graph: is a medium grounder with a visor that probably hides purple optics.  
> Inquis: is pale orange and hovering flyer. Has a gravelly voice that one would not think would belong to such a small body.  
> Rift Ring: the alias Sentinel uses.  
> (Revisions January 2016)


	15. Liquid Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I revised this chapter. Most of the scenes are the same, except I deleted one scene and added a different one. Sorry, the last original scene irritated me so just ignore that Aquila scene … I had a better idea that involved some brotherly bonding in the next chapter. :3

Skyfire sighed as he looked at communication beep as it waited for a reply. He really didn’t want to make this call. He really didn’t want to talk about this. It made his armor crawl, and yet he knew his city was built on people like Rift Ring. Primus had a place for all his creations ... even if their own parents didn’t want them.

Swallowing, hating himself, he allowed the frequency to connect, a familiar face popping onto the screen. For a moment, the healer and teacher looked surprised, probably wondering why a student was contacting him through a medical line.

“Skyfire. My, not who I was expecting especially since you haven’t been in any of my medical courses in Steller Cycles. Your studies do not really require medical courses unless …,” a pained look overcame the healer, his specialty known far and wide. “Oh … or have you contacted me for medical reasons.”

Swallowing, nervous, Skyfire stumbled over his words, “Well, not me … or my brother or … it’s just that … I know someone that needs your help … in a medical manner.”

“I see. What is the nature of the problem? Is it serious?” asked Restart in a critical manner.

The flier’s words became very soft, his words foreboding as he refused to look his old mentor in the optic, “Well, you see, a fellow organics enthusiast said … someone hurt him in a … sexual manner. And emotionally it wounded him so badly that we could barely keep him together when his emotions met their end. We need your help … he needs your help.”

Restart sighed, hating the look of pain and desperation on his old student’s face, his words soft, “I understand … Well, you contact the right person then. It is my specialty. Now, tell me. Who do I need to save?”

…

Sentinel had grown to hate and love the dark, his optics still broken and gone. Unfortunately, he could never tell who entered his room and he always seemed to be stuck in a perpetual state of rest. His body was just built to rest when his optics were offline and when he was lying down. It was just something that couldn’t be avoided given that he was obviously stuck doing a lot of that. Sometimes he even caught himself falling into slumber when the scientists were working on him or talking to him.

Uh, now there was an unpleasant subject.

He knew the science crew was just trying to help and that he had ripped himself up badly, but they always seemed to be touching him. Yes, they were replacing parts or checking on his status and trying to offer comfort with a soft brush over his forearm as was customary, but he hated it.

He hated it because it was so gentle, like he’d break with one misplaced grasp or rough tug. It was terrible because it reminded him of that _night_. Optimus’ touches and kisses were gentle like that and yet so passionate. Yes, the anti-depressants that the scientists had given him (mostly because he couldn’t stop screaming and crying those first few Mega-cycles; he wasn’t proud of it) had made the memories a little more bearable and he didn’t feel as suicidal, but it didn’t dull the memories or chase away the nightmares.

That … was the greatest downfall of not having optics. Once you woke from a nightmare … you were still in the dark.

Sighing at the thought, Sentinel shifted slightly on his berth.

Frag, he was tired. He just couldn’t get over the nightmares. True, it just replayed the night over and over again, but sometimes Soundwave or even Magnus would join in and frag him over. Truthfully, he might have found that ironic given that both mech’s metaphorically fragged him over and also because Soundwave technically didn’t even have the right reproductive parts, but he prayed that tonight would be different, that this rest would be nice. He wanted to have a good dream: perhaps a memory about Elita while she was still alive. Any warm memory would do.

Anything but the ghost that was haunting him with her half rusted features. Even with the depression medication he could sometimes hear her calling, asking why he was still alive. That _thing_ no longer comforted him. It frightened him and for some reason he felt like it really wanted him dead … if it had to kill him itself, then so be it.

Not that he had told anyone really about it. It wasn’t like they didn’t think him crazy as it was. She was probably just a waking nightmare like everything else. Her whispers in the night would pass … hopefully.

And yet, bidding recharge to take him away, he seemed to lie there forever, drifting in and out of partial rest, unable to claim the sweet confines of oblivion. All he could feel was the aches of his body and the beating of his spark … and the small one against his own electric heart. He could feel it grow as the mega-cycles passed, pressing against his own.

It would drop any mega-cycle now, wouldn’t it? It would drop into the developing shell and be all but complete. Everyone knew that once that happened … there was no getting rid of it. The sparkling was all but developed and to pull it out of the carrying chamber would merely leave it disfigured and glitchy but alive. No sane medic would abort a bitlit so close to completion.

Sentinel shivered at the thought.

Primus, he wished someone would come in and distract him from his thoughts. Anyone, even Skyfire’s slaghead brother. That mech might have had medical knowledge but he lacked any type of bedside manner. Primus, Aquila could be irritating … though even his voice would be nice right now. Perhaps someone would even touch his shoulder or speak softly to him or … hold his hand. A part of him hated the touches and yet he wanted someone to touch him. It had been so long since someone had touched him kindly. In fact, it was no wonder his body had reacted the way it had when Optimus had touched him so warmly and … lovingly.  

Frag, he didn’t need to think of that right now.

He needed to think of anything, anything else!

Suddenly, as if on godsend, he heard a knock on the door and then it opened slowly. Turning his head slowly, he listened carefully to see who would speak and release him from his torturous loneliness. Yet, there was no voice, just the echo of peds into the room. He frowned slightly as he tried to figure out who it was by the sound alone. Most of the scientists were larger and heavy footed except for Inquis … and it didn’t sound like Inquis and his twitching blades.

I-it wasn’t Elita, was it? It wasn’t one of those nights where she crept in the shadows, angry at him for leaving her alone in death, for being a coward and not dying like he promised.

Swallowing, fear dragging into his spark slightly, he asked carefully, “Who’s there?”

The peds stalled at his feet … or at least where he thought his feet would be. He honestly wondered if he still had feet. The scientists kept him pretty numb. He couldn’t even feel anything.

Baring his teeth, the Autobot growled, “Don’t just stand there. What do you want? I’m trying to get some recharge in.”

The figure merely continued to stand there, vents panting slightly. Personally, Sentinel thought it was pretty creepy, but he kept his irritated visage up, “Look, I’m tired. Just tell me what you want.”

A small almost warm chuckle echoed over the room, warm and blending as it murmured, “Isn’t it obvious what I want, Sentinel? I came all this way here for you … because I want you.”

Sentinel, beside himself, went stock still as his vents stalled, the voice continuing as a hand suddenly ran up the side of the berth as the figure walked towards his head.

“I know what’s been going on Sentinel. You don’t have to feel alone anymore. I even know about the urges … down there and the want to be _filled_. The dreams of being taken again and again until you’re sated.”

Sentinel almost choked when he felt hot vents near his face, the mech leaning over him likely, but there was no way it was him. And yet he could never forget that voice … but _he_ just couldn’t be here. There was no way _he_ could be here! No one was supposed to know where he was. He had made sure of it. He had never wanted to be found.

“As the sire,” continued the voice, Optimus’ voice, bashful and yet surprisingly daring, “I want to sate you. After all, i-it is my responsibility to make sure the sparkling has all the nanites he needs and that the bitlit isn’t stealing from your frame. So … I want to pleasure you. Can I pleasure you, Sentinel? That’s why you called me here, right? I promise it will be good like last time. I’ll make you come again and again.”

Choking, Sentinel tried to scream out and thrash away when he felt a hand run up and down his thigh, sliding into the inside of his thigh for a moment. It was obvious what Optimus wanted, but the other Prime just couldn’t be here! True, he couldn’t feel much of anything below his legs, but he was sure the reproductive system wasn’t attached to the same system as his legs … so he was going to feel everything. And yet he couldn’t make a sound. He couldn’t even voice his fright and horror as Optimus started running his hand over his cod piece, begging for him to open it softly. Frag, he couldn’t even lash out, because he was strapped to the berth!

And when had that happened?! The scientist no longer did that. And how did Optimus even know about the pregnancy? He hadn’t remembered anything with that mind control device!

Suddenly, none of those logical thoughts mattered. All he could think of was the click that filled the room … his cod piece opening on its own and allowing Optimus access to his most private parts. Optimus, as kind as ever, merely said, “S-so you do want me. You opened your cod piece for me. I-I didn’t think you would want me again after the first time. Well, I promise it will be good so let me start by pleasuring you.”

Then, slow and careful, and so sickenly thoughtful, Optimus crawled onto the berth with him, littering his abdomen and upper legs with kisses as he settled between Sentinel’s legs.  Optimus’ next words made Sentinel wish he could wail, “Oh frag … y-you are already dripping. I didn’t know my mere presence aroused you so much. Well, just enjoy this then … I want to taste you.”

Then, after kissing Sentinel’s slowly growing belly once more, Optimus wasted no time in slowly spreading those thighs which Sentinel had no control over, hot vents pressing warm air over the blue mech’s interface. The fire truck actually purred in appeasement before he slowly pressed his face into the wet valve, kissing it almost lovingly for a minute before he started licking and moving his jaw as if he were trying to eat Sentinel’s very valve.

Not that Sentinel had any say on the subject as he thrashed, Optimus probably thinking him excited because his valve immediately reacted, throbbing in pleasure since it had been so sensitive lately. Lucky, the blissful torture of a tongue lapping at his valve didn’t have to last forever when Sentinel suddenly felt the edge come unexpectedly, his valve tightening as his mouth opened in a silent scream. If Optimus saw his mouth move at all, the other Prime probably thought it was a silent scream of pleasure.

“Primus, your valve came, hard … there’s so much fluid down there,” said the higher ranking Prime as he pulled himself away from the valve, vents panting; Optimus’ voice was shaking as he murmured, “And you smell so good down there. My spike is actually aching it’s so hard. I-I’m going to enter you now. I want to be inside you … tell me if you are in pain or want to stop, alright?”

Opening his mouth, wishing he could scream, a lone tear fell down Sentinel’s cheek as Optimus crawled on top of him, hands running up and down his blue chassis as the other murmured, “I’ll make it good. Like last time. You liked it the first time, right? You came so hard for a first timer … I-I promise there won’t be any pain like last time though. Now just let me slide in.”

Feeling a stiff member slap against his inner thigh, the officer threw his head back and bucked as well as he could as he released a silent scream. This wasn’t happening! How could this be happening? Optimus was orns away. But this was definitely real. He could feel his reproductive system priming itself.

“Excited? I am as well. Primus, you are so hot … I … uhhhh,” Optimus moaned as he slowly slid inside the other, Sentinel bucking as he was filled with Optimus’ member, stretching him.

Vents panting, Sentinel mentally noted that Optimus had been truthful. It didn’t hurt like the first time. It stung slightly with how tight he seemed to be, but he was slippery and it felt so snug and right and Optimus was shifting inside him just the right way and frag … what was wrong with him?! Why couldn’t he scream or shout or cry for mercy? Instead, his hips were shifting like he was a whore-bot, begging Optimus to move inside him, wishing he could feel his legs so he could wrap them around the other.  

And Optimus did move inside him. The red Prime started out slow and then picked up a quick, fast pace. It felt good. It _was_ good. It was as if Optimus just knew what he wanted, what nodes to press into and shift about. It was blissful. It was so good. He knew he should hate it and yet the deep gnawing that had settled into his carrying chamber the last few Mega-cycles seemed content, pleased even.

His whole system was telling him that this was _okay_. That he should like this.

Frag … he was tired of being upset and crying and weeping and hating himself and his body.

He was tired of fighting.

Choking back a sob, Sentinel quit thrashing against his restraints and revealed his neck so Optimus could lean down and start sucking at his throat. Optimus quickly obliged, changing the angle he was slamming into the other as limber fingers started pressing at joints.

Soon, there was the sound of juices slapping together, moaning and … release.

It felt good. It felt really good.

Suddenly, as if recognizing the admittance, the room no longer seemed so dark. His world no longer seemed so bleak. He could even see the silhouette of Optimus on top of him, fucking him. There were even red curtains in the shadows billowing around them. His spark was even hammering in pleasure, in pleading as if asking why he hadn’t done this sooner. Then, finally, he felt his valve tighten, bliss echoing throughout his form and then he came. He came so hard that his entire form shuttered, the feeling only enhanced as warm nanites suddenly exploded inside of him.

And he liked it.

It was so warm and pleasant and his entire system seemed pleased with the prospect of being full. A part of him even prayed that Optimus just kept coming. He wanted Optimus to spill into him forever. Then, as if Primus was answering his silent plea, the fire truck roared and came again and again and again. In fact, Sentinel could feel his belly expanding as Optimus kept spilling inside him like an endless waterfall of warmth. Sentinel didn’t know when his hands become unbound or why he could see now, Optimus smiling and panting down at him, but he couldn’t help but put his hands on his belly as he felt it slowly expand with Optimus’ juices flowing into his carrying chamber. It was painful as his metal spread and stretched and yet he found himself begging Optimus for more. He needed more … he needed more for the sparkling.

For _his_ sparkling.

“Please, more! Frag me more! Fill me up,” Sentinel found his lips begging, pleading not even wondering why he had a voice now.

Optimus, shivering above him, could only murmur, “Yes, Rift Ring. Yes …”

Rift Ring? Wait, how could Optimus know …

“ _Rift Ring … come on, wake up_.”

Suddenly, the curtains disappeared and the feel of a cock inside him dispersed … and the darkness of opticless sockets returned, his systems beeping as he was pulled from recharge. It-it had been a dream? A nightmare? But it had felt so real. When he came … it had felt so real. His valve still felt full, his valve even felt dripping and wet.

Face suddenly contorting in horror, Sentinel twitched his fingers … his valve twitching in appeasement in reaction. Frag, he had been fucking himself. His valve was stuffed with his _own_ fingers, fluid everywhere between his thighs. Worse yet … someone was in the room with him, watching him and shuffling nervously.

“Rift Ring … Are you alright? I heard some moaning and I came in to see if you were having … another nightmare.”

Trying to bid back the tears of embarrassment that threatened to pull at his features, Sentinel couldn’t help but choke, “H-how much did you see Aquila? How much?”

There was silence for a moment from the usually sarcastic and stoic mech, a loss for words. Then, sighing softly, the jet murmured, “I saw enough. You … were really going at it and kept mentioning someone called … Optimus.”

Besides himself, Sentinel couldn’t help but suddenly whimpered and breakdown, bringing his dry hand up to his face so he could at least hide his expression of utter surrender, warm tears streaming out of his empty sockets. What was wrong with him? Why was he fucking himself like a little whore-bot over the thought of his rapist? What was slaggen wrong with him!

“Hey, hey, hey. No need for that. It’s okay; it’s okay,” suddenly came Aquila’s voice, almost desperately as the jet stumbled closer over to the berth, a hand shakily placing itself on Sentinel’s shoulder in a show of comfort. “There’s nothing wrong with what you did. It’s completely normal for a Heavy mech to masturbate in recharge. I-it’s a way to tell a partner and the carrier t-that it needs … things. T-things like nanites in his carrying chamber.”

Choking, hating himself though a little calmed by the thought it was his body doing this to him and not a hidden want for his rapist … his old friend.

“Why,” found Sentinel whispering, begging. “Why did this happen to me? Why is this happening to me? I wasn’t the best mech in the universe, but I followed the rules and I worked so hard. I did my job so well. I did everything I was told to by a superior and … and still this happened to me. Still … I was punished.”

Choking on his words, tears falling and dripping onto his berth, Sentinel begged the larger bot, “Why? Please tell me what I did wrong?”

A chair pulled forward, a warm hand suddenly engulfing his own, Aquila struggled to find the right words, “Shh, shh. No need for that. You know that what happened to you was _not_ a punishment. Primus is many things … but he does not punish. He would never punish one of his children in that way and you know that.”

Aquila’s voice was almost a whisper as he beat it into Sentinel’s head, “You know that.”

Sentinel pulled in a vent of air, trying to calm himself, slowly and reluctantly agreeing.

Sighing, glad the other mech had calmed, Aquila continued to speak softly, surprisingly sincere, “Please know that I’m sorry that this happened to you, but if anyone understands what’s going on its us. Most of us were born from Carriers like yourself. This is the life we were born into. Our parents survived … You’ll survive as well.”

Whimpering softly, he thankfully gripped Aquila’s hand, glad for its sturdiness. He would survive this … he had to.

“Now … I don’t mean to unnerve you Rift Ring,” whispered Aquila a few moments later, Rift Ring having calmed. “I know it’s been a difficult morning, but what you were doing earlier is a bad sign. Your body is craving the minerals that nanites are made of. Now, we would generally just give you supplements but given your injuries … we gave you all of them already to heal.”

Aquila’s next words were wary, careful, “So … the only option is nanites or risk the sparkling stealing metal from your internals which we can’t allow given your state.”

Rift Ring choked, placing a hand on his face again as he whispered, “No-no, I can’t have anyone inside me. Not now … not for a very long time if _ever_. Please … don’t make me.”

Choking, vents stuttering Aquila quickly corrected himself, “No, no. Not like _that_. More … medical in nature. Donations that will be placed in your valve. Nothing like … _that_. No one will hurt you like that Rift Ring, I promise”

Vents stuttering, Sentinel gingerly nodded his head and placed a hand on his slowly swelling belly, glad for its warmth. He would survive this … they would survive this.

…

A few planets away, Optimus sighed as he stared down into his energon. The dreams … the thoughts about the erotic mech were not going away. Yes, they weren’t as often as they once were after the spark attack, but they had taken a disturbing twist ever since his spark attack and the naming of the forming bond. The mech that would moan and twist beneath him, his valve so slick and wet and tight and wonderful … now had a face. And at first, the first time he had had the dream about who his lover was, Optimus had sat up in a cold sweat, coolant dripping down his armor.

Part of his mind had called it a nightmare … while his spark had purred in contentment like it was right to dream of _him_ that way.

Optimus sighed at the thought and placed a hand over his optics. What was wrong with him? Sentinel was missing! He should be worrying about the mech, not jacking off to the thought of his wet valve. Part of him wanted to believe his worry about the other was just why his subconscious dreamed of Sentinel that way. He also presumed that it had something to do with him being the prime age for breeding but really … were these erotic dreams of his maybe-offline friend really necessary?

“What is wrong with me?” whispered Optimus softly to himself, hating his mind.

“What’s so wrong?” came a crabby and yet familiar voice that immediately set the young Prime at ease.

Dropping his hand, Optimus was greeted by the familiar sight of Ratchet, the mech a little shinier than usual given it was a requirement to be presentable as a teacher. Ratchet had been offered the position of teaching mechs and femmes field medicine so that anyone could patch up a teammate until a medical officer could do all the fine work. Ratchet always seemed to be bitching about it, but he never left either. Optimus figured that that meant the old mech was happy.

“Dang kid, you look terrible,” grumbled Ratchet as he looked over the exhausted Prime, sitting down with the other. “I came to check on you as soon as I heard about your spark attack. Sorry, I wasn’t on Cybertron during the attack kid, but Sari is just going through some _changes_ and she needed me on Earth.”

“Changes? What kind of changes? Is it something serious?” quipped Optimus, suddenly worried. He had always disliked the fact that Sari was alone on Earth. He knew she wasn’t officially a member of his team, but he hated having her so far away. He knew she wanted to take care of her father, but she was so young herself, a sparkling compared to their kind, but she promised she would call for help if she needed it.

And it seemed she did.

Waving off the other’s worry, Ratchet murmured, “Don’t you worry. She’s fine and, no, I can’t tell you exactly what was wrong. A patient’s health, _especially half organic_ ,” Ratchet whispered as he looked around the open food court, “is no one else’s business. This also isn’t the time or place. Now tell me kid, have you not been recharging well? Did they prescribe yah anything during your stay in the hospital?”

Optimus smiled softly and shook his head, waiting for the old mech to situate himself before he murmured, “Not really, my health is fine. It’s just I need someone to talk to, someone to speak with about my thoughts.”’

“Ah, it’s _that_ kind of problem,” said Ratchet. “Well, tell me what’s going on. You know I always have an open audio … unless you are Bumblebee. Frag, the kid talked a mile a minute when he found out I went to check on Sari’s health.”

Optimus chuckled slightly at the thought before his frown returned, a hand unknowingly being placed on his chassis, “Well … I’m sure you’ve heard about Sentinel Minor. He went missing.”

Ratchet, stalling the opening of his own cube, gave a weary look to the other as he admitted, “No, I haven’t. What happened?”

Shaking his head, Optimus admitted, “No one knows … he took his vacation and no one suspected anything until he didn’t come back. And, you know, I think … No, I _know_ something bad happened. I can feel it in my spark and yet,” Optimus took on a frustrated tone, his voice whispering, “And yet I’m apparently not worried enough for his well being that all I can think about is fragged his valve senseless. This morning I dreamed I … came … into him so many times his carrying chamber actually started to expand and he just kept begging for more.”

Ratchet, nearly spitted out his drink, his thoughts turning dark. No … no. This couldn’t be what he thought it was and yet Optimus just kept speaking, revealing the horrors that Ratchet had wanted to forget after the Soundwave incident. But the incident would not rest and it just kept reminding Ratchet that he hadn’t listened to his gut enough.

He hadn’t taken care of Sentinel even though he suspected something was wrong … And now knew something was wrong.

“I dream of him almost every night cycle. I want to fill him with my … uh … you know,” said Optimus, gaining a blush even though he was obviously far more frustrated than embarrassed. “And I know it’s wrong. Then again, I think it has something to do with my spark attack and the developing bond that whiplashed back on me, but I don’t even know why the bond developed. We haven’t exactly been close lately.”

Ratchet nearly choked on the small sip of energon that he managed to intake if only to appear normal.

“And a deep part of me just knows that bond belonged to Sentinel even though we aren’t close. I supposed we were like brother’s once, but, regardless, he might be offline and all I can think of is how much I want to stuff him with my … my … spike,” whispered Optimus though he looked on the verge of screaming his frustrations. “I wake up almost every morning stiff and the only way I can jack off lately is if I’m imagining spilling into Sentinel, filling the other’s belly until he whines in pleasure. It’s just so … wrong.”

Finally exhausted, seeming to have kept his frustrations in too long, Optimus slumped in his chaired and gave his elder a pathetic look, “What is wrong with me, Ratchet?”

Ratchet, wiping some energon from his chin, could only bite his glossa. Oh, he had a hankering of what happened and yet he didn’t have the spark to tell Optimus. Optimus was a good kid. He didn’t deserve the guilt, but then again it was only a suspicion … with a lot of supporting behavior. But, regardless, Sentinel might already be offline. Optimus’ spark was probably just reminding the young mech of something that it … might have loved if given a chance.

There must have been something good in Sentinel’s spark to keep Optimus’ spark enthralled. Then again, Sentinel was likely offline so what did it matter? Spark attacks from developing bonds generally meant death or fraggen close to it. Frag, could this all have been avoided if he had just demanded Sentinel stay until after a spark exam on Earth? 

Turning to look Optimus in the optic, Ratchet wilted knowing all too well that what was done … was done. There was only the present now.

“Nothing’s wrong with you Optimus. You’re at that age. Don’t let it bother you too much. Maybe you are secretly into fraggers with large jaws,” said Ratchet, trying to keep the sorrow out of his voice.

Optimus, as if lifted from a burden, merely laughed, adding, “Or maybe I’m into blue sparks. I don’t know why, but in my dreams … Sentinel always has a blue spark. I don’t know if he really does, but you know it might just have to do with his paint color.”

Ratchet pretended to chuckle at that, agreeing with the young mech though in truth this was anything but a laughing matter. The likeability of Sentinel having been raped that night was almost a hundred percent given all the supporting behavior … and with Optimus’ confession … it was likely Optimus who had done it or at least watched. After all, a developing lover’s bond always knew how to keep an engine hot and heavy until the other half came back to finish the bond.

Luckily for Sentinel … he probably was never coming back from his disappearance. So, despite himself, despite the false smile on his face for Optimus, Ratchet vowed to do something he hadn’t done in a long time. He’d pray for the young bot. He’d pray for the forgotten and raped Sentinel Prime. As a healer he was supposed to fix things … but he had done nothing.

May Primus forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves, I made sure to have a steamy scene in this chapter because it’s been so long since I’ve updated. Unfortunately, I’ve been busy … and this isn’t exactly a story I can write at work, but I hope you liked the update. And for those needing more Sentinel loving as I work on the next update, I recommend Quiet Shadows’ Woes series on an ArchiveofOurOwn.


	16. A Bonding Moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year.

Skyfire stared at the large cup that his brother was offering him … well, it truth it was more like a bucket, but jets were just big. Everything was super sized about them … _everything_.

“No, no. I can’t. I just can’t. Can’t you do it? I mean … ugh,” Skyfire squirmed in front of his brother, unable to sit still on his private berth as he crossed his legs, feeling naked in front of his twin … though his twin had probably seen every slaggen piece of him probably more times than the other would like to note … truly, _everything_.

“Can’t we just wait for Restart? I’m sure he is bringing metal supplements,” whined Skyfire, hating the deadpan look his sibling was giving him.

Sighing, shoulder struts falling forward, Aquila reached up and took off his visor, his red optics seeming tired as he reached up and pinched his nose bridge. Skyfire, in reaction, couldn’t help but drop his wings. Aquila rarely took off his visor and the only times he did was when he was tired … and only in front of his twin. Personally, Skyfire believed that Aquila rarely ever took off his visor because the other truthfully believed that his red optics were why their carrier had left them. _Apparently,_ Aquila just reminded their carrier too much of their sire. Not that their adoptive caretakers didn’t love them … but it had become a symbolic action for Aquila. It was meant to show a moment of weakness that his twin rarely showed. He was basically begging for help.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you for this Skyfire. You know I wouldn’t unless I had to and asking Graph or someone just feels wrong. Rift Ring was so upset and for a moment … it reminded me of our carrier … before he left us. I-I understand what it’s like to just want to keep an ounce of your pride. So I don’t want the other scientists to know about _this_ ,” admitted his brother, looking so much younger and less stoic with that visor removed, “But … my reserves aren’t as large as I thought and you know I’ve never been an avid practitioner of masturbation … So I don’t think I have enough.”

Then, face completely serious, Aquila told his brother what he needed, “Brother, I need you to take this cup, go into the washroom … and think of pretty bots. I know it might be scary to touch yourself down there for the first time … but I have confidence in you.”

Skyfire, mouth dropping open, quickly slammed his fist into his brother’s shoulder, glaring at the sarcastic mech that was now grinning.

“Frag, Aquila … I thought something was wrong when you took off your visor, but no you are just being a jerk, as usual. If you wanted to pick on me, there are less elaborate ways to pick on me that don’t involve Rift Ring,” grumbled the other, a bit irritated that his brother had pulled him aside and told him in all seriousness that he needed a baster and nanites only to have it be an intricate lie.

Aquila, offering one of his rare smiles that was meant just for Skyfire, his brother, chuckled a little before he gained a serious expression, “But in all seriousness brother … I do need you to come into this bucket. Rift Ring’s sparkling needs minerals. I caught him masturbating in his recharge and mumbling about someone called Optimus. It’s a sign of his body’s needs.”

Sighing, wings falling down, Skyfire reluctantly took the cup, grumbling, “I should have known it was a joke when you said you weren’t an avid practitioner. You know that definition more accurately describes me than you,” his optics becoming slits, the mech then added, “which is probably why you don’t have enough reserves. You jacked off before checking on Rift Ring, didn’t you?”

Looking offended, though he obviously wasn’t that insulted, Aquila said, “What? I’d never, especially not before checking on a patient.”

Skyfire scoffed, “Oh, don’t lie to me. I know all your fetishes and we both know that you are secretly into that bondage stuff. You probably have to jack off before going into Rift Ring’s room to ignore any embarrassment. It’s a shame that you know more about obstinacies than medicine.”

Huffing, the second born twin waved his hand nonchalantly, “Hey, I put him half together. I paid a lot of attention in my medical courses.”

Grinning, glad to have this private time with his twin even though it wasn’t the most comfortable of conversations, Skyfire mocked, “Yeah, so pretty femmes would ask to study with you.”

Taking on a flabbergast expression, Aquila looked like he was about to defend himself when he suddenly stalled and shrugged his shoulders, admitting, “Yes, yes, I did, but even so … I know that Rift Ring needs nanites. So, are you going to come in the cup or what?”

Plating pulling in close, Skyfire nodded solemnly, grumbling, “Fine, I’ll do it … just give me a few cycles.”

“That’s the spirit, brother. I love science as much as any other scientist here, but you have to give into the small things in life once in a while,” beseeched his brother as he pulled something out of his sub space. “Now, I brought some data-zines to assist you. I like looking at all those revealed valves myself … but I think you would get off on the articles.”

Skyfire, looking at the porn data pads his brother was offering him, merely groaned praying silently that Rift Ring decided to keep the sparkling … or this suffering would be all for naught. Well, suffering on his part. Aquila seemed to be having a really good day. Slagger, sarcastic all the way especially when he was picking on his brother … not that Skyfire was innocent. Aquila had learned some of his best pranks from him after all when they were little.

…

“Primus this is so _boring_. I can’t take it anymore. First we hang out in some creepy docking centers with creepy dock workers and then we stop at every major port from Cybertron to Traverse Town … just to be led here. The pit of all pits looking for someone who abandoned his post,” grumbled Hot Shot as he kicked an empty cube away from him, gritting at the feel of pebbles in his joints as the group continued walking. It had not been four Mega-Cycles since the call had been put out to find the missing Prime … correction, missing Minor … but Hot Shot already felt like he was in hell.  

Magnus, after confirming that something seriously bad had happen to Sentinel, had selected three teams to find the missing Minor. In the meeting, Magnus had confirmed that even though there was a chance of the Minor having gone AWOL, it seemed unlikely.  Sentinel had not taken any large amounts of credits or fuel, his weapons were left and nothing of value was missing from his flat. All signs pointed to abduction or something equally ghastly. And yet abandoning his post was not completely unlikely either because he never was seen leaving the planet which meant he smuggled himself off the planet … or he was still on the planet.

One of the teams, the Team Safe-guard (also nicknamed the protector-bots), was given the task of scouring the planet to see if he was kidnapped or half dead in an alley or in … a morgue, unidentified.

Which left Team Blue Net and Team Athenia to the task of looking for him in the colonies … or to deduce that he had turned AWOL and needed a bounty placed on his head. Sentinel Minor had been too high in the ranks to just gallivant off. Optimus Prime, a big supporter of the search for some reason, seemed dead set on the idea that Sentinel had not abandoned his post and that he was hurt. It was the higher Prime’s status which caused Rodimus to choose the harsher path, because if something bad had happened. It had happened out here, in these neutral colonies and not in the party capital of the galaxy: Omel.

Sentinel wasn’t the greatest bot in the world, but he followed the rules … though he had started to slip during his reign as Magnus. Power corrupts some more than most, Rodimus supposed. Regardless, he was sick of his subordinates whining. Rodimus knew, given Optimus Prime’s worry over the situation, that finding Sentinel Minor would likely promise a rise in ranks. That was important to him now days, especially after he had almost lost his team and himself to cosmic rust, that he and his team be in the good graces of someone powerful like the future Magnus: Optimus Prime. Everyone knew it. It was just a matter of time.

“Well, I wasn’t going to have us go to Omel,” some of the crew gave him miserable or loathing glares as Rodimus spoke up, “Because we all know that Sentinel never made it to his destination. He apparently never even made it to the ship.”

“So you truly believe that the ticket he bought to Omel … was a distraction? Why? So he could go AWOL?” said Red Alert as she finished her commander’s train of thought, frowning deeply.

Hot Shot, moaning and not catching onto his commander’s dark glare, grumbled, “But who wouldn’t want to go to Omel? Nova Prime was the smart one here. He and his team went to have a party. We got stuck jumping from shifty dock from shifty dock looking for a ship that some shifty mech apparently saw someone that looked like Sentinel enter. If that is the case, we should report it to the Magnus and head back home. Sentinel is obviously a-”

“Don’t say it Hot Shot,” bit out Rodimus. “Sentinel wasn’t the most charming of bots, but he did his job loyally and loved his job. He lived for his job and it was that passion, that drive was what gained him the position he did have. He is not a traitor, but he was up to something. When they demoted him he didn’t fight. He didn’t struggle … it was like he gave up.”

“So … what are you saying?”

“I think he wanted to hide away. He wanted slipped out of sight,” said Rodimus Prime carefully before he added. “He left us those clues, those false clues that led to Omel, so we need to look where he didn’t want us to look. If someone wants to hide out of sight, they go where they can’t be seen. And what is the one place where people don’t look twice in our society?”

The rest of his team shifted nervously as their commander came to a stop in front of one docked freight ship, _Eureka Seven,_ a large white and grey mech barking out orders. Only when the Prime cleared his throat did the large heavily armored mech turn his back to his crew which was loading the ship, his yellow optics glowing in curiosity.

“Yes, what do you Autobots want?”said the mech grumpily.

“Hello, we would hate to trouble you during your work,” said the red mech kindly as he brought a holo-pad out of his subspace, a picture of Sentinel popping up on it, “But have you seen this mech?”

Revere, the captain, wearily took the holo-pad from the slim Prime. He sighed through his vents as he looked at a picture of Rift Ring, a drifter that had worked on his ship about two Orns ago. He had been weary of the mech, as with all new hands on his ship, but the mech didn’t have the volatile streak and temper that a full fledge Con generally did so he had hired him on without a second thought. Rift Ring was a quiet mech and complained very little though he obviously had a dislike for organics given his reaction to some of the life forms that would grab onto the ship’s hull. He seemed harmless; a good mech with a personal past that he was obviously running away from.

Looking over Rodimus, Revere noted that he now knew what the blue mech was running from though. Apparently, Rift Ring wasn’t a neutral given the Autobot symbol on his chassis in the picture.

Shoulder’s sinking, Revere gave the pad back to the slightly shorter red mech, obviously the group’s leader. He knew that the mech might seem smaller than him, but he knew better than to judge an Autobot by their size. Autobots knew how to fight which was why he was going to get the red Autobot and his team away from his ship as soon as possible. He didn’t need trouble. Rift Ring seemed to be a good bot, but he was not worth losing his trading license over with Cybertron.

“Who wants to know?” asked the captain suspiciously.

“The Autobot Guard and the Magnus himself,” said Rodimus very formally though there was no proof that the blue mech that the witness saw was even Sentinel. “There is a rumor that this mech entered your ship so it is best to tell us what you know and no action will be taken against you.”

Revere huffed through his vents. He didn’t need any trouble today. Pirates were bad enough. He didn’t need Cybertron breathing down his neck as well. So, though a part of him hated being labeled a snitched, he admitted, “Yeah, I’ve seen him. He said he was a Neutral when I met him, but looking at this picture … I take it he was not a Neutral,”

Straightening his spine, glad that he could finally report something back to his superiors, Rodimus Prime asked, “I’m glad to hear he was safe. Now, do you know where he went … what he was up to?”

Frowning deeply, Revere shook his head, “All I know is he was a quiet mech. He kept to himself and did his work. He didn’t disobey orders, followed the rules and didn’t sleep around. He was a good worker.”

Rodimus frowned deeply, thinking how odd it was to hear the word ‘quiet’ and ‘Sentinel’ in the same sentence and apparently he wasn’t the only one with the way his team was exchanging glances. Perhaps the Magnus’ punishment was too harsh because just hearing of Sentinel’s behavior from a second party … seemed wrong.

“He was a little weird though. He was always wondering the halls at night like he couldn’t recharge, and I swore I heard him talking to someone once. A femme … which there are no femmes on my ship, so he was kind of creepy, “Revere admitted, feeling a chill run down his spinal column as he recalled the echo of voices that night. “And then he had this tick to him, like he had a glitch. He wasn’t a defect, was he? You guys really are too hard on those types of mechs.”

Red Alert, who had been listening calmly, suddenly went stiff at the word ‘tick’ her slim legs rushing forward as he suddenly interrupted Rodimus’ defense of Cybertron’s political opinion of glitched mechs.  

“No, he wasn’t glitched. Now tell me of the tick,” she all but demanded, her command so strong it made the large mech back down a little.

Frowning deeply, Revere’s vents hummed before he grumbled, “Well, sometimes when he seemed to be deep in thought or when bots asked him where he was going, his visor would flicker and his neck would twitch like his systems had just freaked out. He didn’t break down or anything so I never thought much of it.”

Red Alert, hands becoming fists, she pretty much finished the interrogation on her own, her voice hinting at rage, “Where was he heading, tell me.”

Raising his hands up, not liking the angry glimmer in her optics, he confessed, “He asked if I was going to Docker City when he originally boarded. That’s all I know, honest. I don’t want any trouble.”

Turning her back on the large captain, she all but stormed away Rodimus giving the rest of his team a worried look as he murmured, “Finish questioning him.”

Then, feeling that at least Ironhide was capable of a minor interrogation, he rushed after his medic, grabbing her arm to keep her from storming away any further, asking, “Hey, where are you going? What was that even about? You rarely lose your cool.”

Stalling, angry, she all but growled, “I’m upset that we were sent out to find a corpse, Rodimus. Is that what you want me to say?”

Frowning, a bit unnerved that Red Alert had actually lost her cool, the Prime asked carefully, “What do you mean by finding a corpse? And is this really even about Sentinel. Y-you didn’t like him, did you?”

Choking, blushing, the femme defended herself, “N-no, I would have never dated that jerk. It’s just … it’s just the symptoms the captain told us about. You see, I’ve heard of them before, witnessed them even,” her voice was almost a whisper as she refused to look at the other, “before my brother offlined himself.”

Rodimus, finally catching the hint, shook his head, “No, no. You can’t mean …”

“Yes, the reason he smuggled himself off the planet was so he … could wandered off to find a quiet place to offline.”

Feeling sick to his tank, Rodimus didn’t want to believe it, but at the same time he slowly murmured, “Well, there’s one way to find out. We are going to Docker City. Hopefully, we can still save him from himself.”

…

“Do you think anyone will notice we stole the only baster from the kitchen?” said Skyfire nervously as he and Aquila stood between Sentinel’s legs with a bucket and baster. Luckily, the blue mech had opted to go under for the procedure. Rift Ring had admitted that he didn’t need any more trauma … and because a part of him probably wanted to be able to deny it ever happened. It was probably for the best … considering that neither of the large twins really knew what they were doing. They knew the theory behind the procedure: open valve, stick ejection device in valve, eject nanites into valve and you were done.

Things were hardly that easy though.

“No, I don’t think they will and I doubt they would _even care_. Now … just squeeze it up there,” said Aquila with an upward hand motion, waiting for his brother to actually stick it into the revealed valve. The valve was basically just dripping for anything.

“U-uh, I know half of its mine but it’s just so … crude. I can’t believe I put my … stuff … in a bucket just so I could put it in a baster and … and…” stalled Skyfire, looking a bit pale as he motioned in between Sentinel’s legs, unable to finish his sentence.

“And stick it up Rift Ring’s hue-hut?” finished Aquila.

“What?”

“You know … his ready ring? His joy hole? His clap trap?”

Skyfire could only look at his brother in horror. Where had he learned phrases like that? He knew Aquila and him and their own separate hobbies and didn’t share everything like they used to but what the pit was his twin doing with his spare time to become so ... Well, _educated_ really wasn’t the right word for it.

“His valve,” clarified Aquila, vowing to make sure his porn vids were hidden well when he got home to their shared apartment. It seemed his brother wasn’t emotionally ready for that kind of stuff … even though he was technically older than him.

“Just stick it in there and squeeze. It … can’t be that hard,” finally murmured the least patience of the two brothers.

Looking at the gapping, slightly twitching valve for a moment, Skyfire seemed ready to take the plunge, only to thrust the baster at his brother as choked, “I can’t do this. You do it first!”

Aquila, not expected his brother to basically thrust the full baster at him, grabbed the item too firmly to keep it from falling on the floor and thus require sanitizing again. Unfortunately for him … it was a very touchy baster. Before either brother could even properly cover their face or at least close their mouths … the electric fluid went _everywhere_.

For a moment the two brothers stood there, horrified, chassis, hands and even their faces covered in the fluid.

Skyfire, after looking completely sickened, gagged somewhat as a hand reached up to his throat, “I think I got some in my mouth.”

Then, before Aquila could even reach up a hand and wipe away the blob hanging off of his visor, Skyfire was over the sink in the room gagging over it as the cleansing fluid was turned off.

“Great, Skyfire. Great work … now I’m covered in it,” grumbled Aquila as his hands dropped to the side, his glare not long lasting as he turned to see his brother struggling to clean himself off. He supposed he couldn’t blame his sibling and actually … it was kind of funny. Really funny actually.

Beside himself Aquila started laughing almost to the point of hysteria as he watched his brother rinse out his mouth. Skyfire, nanites still all over him regardless of his panicked cleaning, could only frown at this as he grumbled, “This isn’t funny!”

Snorting, loving how Skyfire’s voice had reached that octane, Aquila grabbed for the bucked and stuck the baster into it, chuckling, “Well, I suppose since we are both already covered in it. Just as wells get this over with, right?”

The slightly older jet, beside himself, couldn’t help but suddenly stop cleaning himself so erratically, admitting, “I-I supposed your right. Though I find it disturbing that you are so … used … to being covered in nanites. L-let’s just give this valve what it wants.”

“Already _on top_ of it,” said Aquila, snorting slightly as he brought the baster down towards the valve, pressing it in with little trouble. The valve greedily sucked at the baster before the jet squeezed the baster, waiting a moment for all the nanites to drip into the valve before he pulled it out with a wet pop.

Skyfire, despite nearly having a break down moments ago, frowned at his brother, grumbling, “Really? Are you going to make fragging jokes the whole time we do this? It hardly seems appropriate considering we had to put Rift Ring under just to get his to calm down. The thought of something in his valve terrified him.”

Smirking regardless of his brother’s chiding as he offered another baster full to the hungry valve, Aquila grumbled, “Well, after awkwardly mixing a bucket of nanites with my brother, stealing a baster for lewd purposes and being covered in our own business … Well, I feel a little sexual humor can’t make this any more awkward. So why the pit not?”

Frowning at his brother as the baster was placed in the bucket again and then offered back to the likely aroused valve, Skyfire finally sighed, “Yes, perhaps you are right. It’s not like we could have handle this situation any worse, right?”

Chuckling, pressing the fifth or six load into the sucking valve, deeper to make sure it didn’t drip back out like the last load, Aquila was about to agree when suddenly a squelching noise filled the room. The visored mech couldn’t help but look up and give his twin a horrified look.

Skyfire, reading his brother’s expression too well, moaned and pinched his nose bridge as he walked around the berth so that he was standing between Sentinel’s legs with his brother, his words humorless, “Rift Ring’s valve just sucked the baster up, didn’t it?”

Staring at the valve in complete shock, still finding it hard to believe that little tight valve had just sucked the whole tool up, Aquila softly agreed, “Yes, yes it did. Sucked it up like it was a black whole of valvee death.”

Skyfire, lip twitching at the thought of reaching into Rift Ring’s valve and rifling around, turned to his brother who caught on rather quickly as he threw his hands up in the air and proclaimed, “Whoa … I am not going in there. You’ve seen what it did to a baster. I want to keep my hand. It’s my only right hand I’m quite attached to it, literally, thank you very much.”

Peeking at the valve again, Skyfire couldn’t help but ask, “Well … we can’t just leave it there.”

“Yes … yes we can,” said Aquila, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A not-filler chapter! Yeah!


	17. Fairy Tales

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

“Sentinel … Sentinel … Sentinel … wake up,” came a soft voice, pressing back the dreamless recharge that had held him. “I know you are awake Sentinel, you can’t fool me.”

Beside himself, beside knowing that she was nothing but a nightmare that would not leave him alone despite the med chips and medication he was given. He knew _she_ was an illusion. It wasn’t like anyone else had ever seen her or heard her soft voice … It wasn’t like anyone else had seen the ghost following him around.

And yet, once again, her voice was calling out to him in the dark.

“Go away,” he whispered, choking, his hands becoming fists. He did not want her around anymore. She only brought pain, a reminder that the real Elita was offline. “You are not real.”

There was a moment of silence, heeled peds stalling on the metal floor as if surprised. For a moment there was no sound, no ticking of rusted gears that seemed to follow her illusion and then, all of a sudden a vent of freezing air fell onto his face, her voice so close she had to be only a hand length from his audio. Frag, a part of his mind even told him he could smell sour energon … and rust, the smell of decay.

“Not real? I’m not real?” her voice was fast and unnatural as she whispered in his audio. “Tell me, was it unreal when you held me and made love to me and fragged me? Was it not real when you called my name out in bliss? Was it not real when you confessed your love? Was my fear and screams unreal as I fell to my deactivation a few orns later? Did my death not hurt? Tell me … how am I not real?”

Her next words were biting despite how frightening and unworldly her tone had been moments ago, her voice again, sad and sweet, “Is the love you still carry for me unreal then? Tell me, does your spark lie to you so often, Sentinel?”

Swallowing, hating how she just knew what to say and how real her lips felt as she kissed the side of his chin, Sentinel chocked, “I do love you. I always will … You were supposed to be the _one_ , but you are dead now. You are not her. You are just madness now. A bad dream. _Go away.”_

A hand being placed lovingly on his higher chest, a head being placed on his chassis causing him to intake slightly in pain as she pressed on his scarred chassis, she chuckled slightly, “Oh Sentinel. I’m not dead. See, you can feel my touch … I am very real. Why don’t you listen to me anymore? Why did you not stay there with me … in the bottom of that cave?”

Teeth gritting, a mantra playing over and over in his mind that she was not real and to wake up, Sentinel spoke as forcefully as he could, “You. Are. Not. Real! Just leave me alone. You are just some sickness that my processor is too weak to notice and fight off.”

Hand petting his chassis, digging into a weld mark and making the Prime hiss slightly in pain, the femme chuckled, “And yet I can hurt you? Tell me, do you usually feel all your delusions? You certainly seemed to feel Optimus fucking you nice and good last night. You really liked him on top of you … _you slut bot_.”

Sentinel wince at Elita’s voice, her tone slowly growing lower and unnatural.

“You only think of yourself and filling your valve up with hot cum. You no longer dream of me, withering beneath you, showing you my love!” she all but screamed, almost claw like fingers dragging into the weld marks in his arm, digging in. “Now you dream of Optimus and even fraggen Megatron and Soundwave over me! You betrayed me! You were supposed to love me until the end!”

There was a moment of choking on her part, like she was crying. Then, hand removed from the seam she had been ripping into, she started petted his face in a forlorn manner.

“Oh Sentinel … why have you forsaken me?” she whispered as she suddenly stopped petting his face, her form creaking like rusted metal as she seemed to look elsewhere, a hand suddenly on his expanding belly. Beside himself, he twitched away from her touch though he knew he was legless and couldn’t really get away.

“I understand now,” as she touched his belly again, rubbing it in almost a loving manner. “It’s because of that _thing_ inside you, because it’s so much more alive than I am. Well, if that is the only thing keeping us apart … I will get rid of it. I’ll even let you watch.”

Then, before he could even tell her to go away again, his throat voiceless as he struggled to finds the right words, she was suddenly crawling on top of him, bouncing on his cod piece as if they were getting ready to frag. Then, after rubbing his belly for a while, giggling darkly, she was suddenly leaning forward, strapping his arms down before he could even rise them up. Not even wasting a moment more, she was then tugging the cord that had him plugged into the berth from the back of his helm which was watching his vitals. The berth didn’t even put up a struggle as the cord came free, the femme likely going to do a sensory link as she whispered, “I want you to see this.”

Before he could even put up a firewall to block the images, he gasped … the first thing he had seen in orns nearly making him sick. He could tell he was looking down through another pair of optics and at himself. His ripped up and torn up and weld-scarred self. His opticless helm had to be the worst thing. He looked like he was already dead.

Chuckling, Elita didn’t look at his chassis long enough for him to take in all the grisly details as her shared optics looked down at the belly, Sentinel’s swollen belly. For a moment all Sentinel could do was take in a vent of air. H-he was getting so _big_. He knew before the spark dropped the shell would expand tremendously, but was he supposed to be that big?

Frag, forget that, if he was that big … why hadn’t the sparklet dropped down to join the shell?

Maybe it already had.

_Primus … please don’t do that to me._

“Primus has no say in this,” suddenly interrupted Elita, somehow having heard or known his thoughts. “But don’t worry … I’ll get rid of it for you. And then we can be together … _forever_.”

Her helm titling, Sentinel was greeted by the sight of a tray full of tools. Tools likely used by Aquila to put him back together … and some of them were rather sharp. It seemed that Elita had noticed this as well because suddenly a partially rusted hand was reaching towards one of the laser scalpels, her vocals laughing in near hysteria.

“I’ll cut it out Sentinel. I’ll cut this little beast out and eat it! Then you will only have me! And will only love me!”

“W-hat!” whimpered Sentinel, finally finding his voice. “Elita what are you talking about? P-please don’t get near me with that thing … Stop. STOP!”

Suddenly struggling, a part of him now believing that she could hurt him, he watched in horror as the scalpel flicker to life, the femme’s rotting hand suddenly coming down to his belly despite his thrashing. He couldn’t help but scream as she started to make an incision, blood pooling.

Sentinel wasn’t sure how long it had lasted though it felt like cycles when it could have been astro-cycles as she cut into him, warm energon pooling onto the berth as she opened him up. And all he could do was watch, her optics still plugged in and allowing him to see down into himself, a hole in his belly. And yet the worse seemed to come when the scalpel finally stopped cutting, Sentinel collapsing on the berth. The dripping torture tool placed to the side with all the clean medical tools. It had done its job, a slit in his belly. Then, rusted-long-horrible fingers waving as if excited, she reached down inside of him, prying him open and pressing the soft metal apart with squelching noises so she could see … so _he_ could see the thing inside him.

A squelching noise louder than any of the others filled the medical room and then she pulled something out of him with a wet plop. It-it was _small_ _and_ tiny covered in energon and other fluids; its metal so thin that he could see its inner components clicking away, but most notable was its golden spark which was just like Optimus’. In fact, it _looked_ like Optimus.

And despite the reminder of the little thing’s sire … he found he did not hate it.

“Oh, look at you,” suddenly interrupted Elita’s voice, reminding him again how much pain he was in. “Beautiful and so full of life. I can see you are meant for _great things_.”

She chuckled darkly, her voice no longer sounding like her own as long fingers, claws even, that no longer even looked like her hands petted the smile off of the sparkling so she could get a better look at the sparkling’s face. Soon those black fingers were no longer happy with just looking at the sparkling. Her pets had become tugs her vocals now laughing in a voice that was most certainly was not Elita. _Its_ words dark as the sparkling finally started to online its blue optics, the sparkling’s first cries echoing in the room.

“My … look at you,” chuckled a deep voice that was most certainly not Elita’s. “You look pretty enough to _eat_. Tasty even.”

Then, the sparkling moving up, the sound of a jaw opening, the feel of warm drool dripping down onto his chassis, Sentinel listened to the crunch of soft metal meeting denta … his sparkling’s cries snuffed out.

…

Aquila, Skyfire, Graph and Sonic Trip were all in the Rec. Room of the ship that doubled as kitchen. Unlike Cybertron, Docker City’s citizens couldn’t survival only on Energon given they didn’t have the resources. So crystals and digestible metals were usually added into the diet with oils and energons. Thus … someone had to be volunteered as the resident chef tonight.

Graph, wandering about as he tried to find all the materials he needed, was the only thing moving in the kitchen, the others all sitting around the table as they waited to see what concoction would be supper.

“So, how long until Restart gets here? He’s still meeting us halfway, isn’t he?” asked Rift Ring as she watched Graph slam one of the cabinets shut, seeming frustrated about something.

“Yes. He was worried about the dose of depressants and the age of the sparkling … Apparently, it should have dropped already,” murmured Skyfire, seeing no reason to keep it a secret since everyone knew about Rift Ring’s condition.

Sonic Trip, frowning for a moment, softly asked, “Do you think it has anything to do with the accident … or the sire? I know larger Cons … take longer.”

Frowning, ignoring an irritating mumble from Graph in the kitchen, Skyfire shrugged, “Rift Ring hasn’t said much if anything about the sire, so it is a possibility but if a mech that big had raped him someone would have noticed. It’s not something one can hide easily when they are Rift Ring’s … size.”

All the mechs at the table shared a sour gaze, knowing all too well that if a mech that large had raped Rift Ring … he probably wouldn’t have been able to walk away from that. In fact, he would have been a bloody mess between his legs so it was unlikely, because someone would have noticed. It had been a private affair given a medic would have done a pregnancy test.  

An awkward unspoken silence filtered into the room, no one knowing what to say until Graph’s slamming about the kitchen suddenly stalled, the mech growling, “Hey … has anyone seen the baster? I can’t find the dang thing anywhere.”

Aquila, who had opened a light energon filler as he waited for supper, actually choked on his energon, sucking it into his vents. The large mech then started to choke, Skyfire getting up quickly to pat his sibling on the back. Graph and Sonic Trip both watched the twins curiously for a moment before Graph put his hand up, grumbling, “Hold on, one of you didn’t use it for an experiment, did you? That’s cookware!”

The two brothers (Aquila finally stopped chocking) gave each other a guilty look at they struggled to find the right words to say when suddenly a scream echoed down the hall. Every bot went still and turned to look down the hall … Rift Ring’s room just down the corner.

It wasn’t the first time they heard the poor mech scream when he was pulled from recharge … it wouldn’t be the last.

Predictable as of late, Sonic Trip was the first to her feet. She needed not excuse herself because they all knew where she was going. To comfort one lost soul. The three mechs were all silent until she was completely gone, the screams ending a few moments later.

Graph, sighing in gratefulness when the screaming ended, gave the two brothers an incriminating glare, “So … what did you two do with the baster.”

Aquila, finally clearing his vents, gave Skyfire a look and then both mechs murmured in unison, “We have no idea what you are talking about.”

…

Sentinel had screamed and screamed and screamed as the Not-Elita devoured a part of him: his sparkling. He knew that the true horror should have been when she-it cut him open, but the only thing that really haunted him was … her devouring his sparkling, hearing the slurping and the crunching as well as a small wail his sparkling gave: a gurgling noise.

And then the Not-Elita was gone.

He was surrounded by darkness again, a soft warm hand far too large to be Elita’s entwining with his own, a warm hand wiping the tears away. A soft voice.

An alive voice.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay Rift Ring. Everything’s fine. You are safe … no one will hurt you here,” whispered the femme, as calm and as strong as ever, her hand coming to rest on his helm. “Everything’s fine, just fine. Just let your systems boot up and those feelings should go away.”

Struggling to breathe, a hand coming to rest on his still bulging belly, Sentinel stumbled over his words, frightened as all hell, “It wasn’t Elita-1. It was some kind of shape shifter, some kind of monster, and she cut me open and she … and she _ate my sparkling_! She ate it and I could only watch …. I could only _watch_. I’m going crazy, aren’t I? I’m going crazy!”

Shushing the other, hand petting his helm, Rift Ring spoke softly, a part of her glad Rift Ring was now calling the pregnancy a sparkling instead of an _it_. It was a good sign as far as she was concerned. Though she was concerned about what Rift Ring was telling her about the dream.

It sounded like an old fairy tale she was told, a creature that survived off the deaths of the bright and hopeful: Unicron’s shadow. Unlike Primus, his brother could not create life for he was the Unmaker. So, as the story goes, Unicron became jealous and angry. He could not take it out on his brother though, because of his thirteen powerful Primes, so he decided to make something else do his dirty deeds for him. Something the Primes would not see coming. Yet, since Unicron could not make life, he instead he tricked a heart-sick Prime for his great weapon: the Star Saber.

And then he cut off his own shadow.  

Said shadow has ever since slunk about like the monster it is, under sparklets’ berths and dark corners plotting and planning. It does so with its shadow skills. Beside’s stealing the form of other people’s shadows, especially those of the offline, it has the ability to see the stings of fate … and how he likes to cut them short; how he likes to end lives before they can be lived, to destroy the light of the bright and hopeful.

It likes to end lives before greatness can be created by them.

Remembering the stories all too well, trying to ignore the feel of a shadow glaring at her back, she placed a hand on Rift Ring’s belly as well, soothing him slightly, “It’s okay. I don’t think you are going crazy. In fact … let me tell you a story about a trickster and plotter who liked to frighten carries like yourself to see if he could get them to miscarry. In fact, he was Unicron’s shadow but he liked to be called … Sideways. Would you like to hear the tale?”

And so, she told the story like it was a fairy tale met to warn and yet calm sparklings before bed. All the while, her hand rubbed his swelling belly, the femme thinking of how important Sentinel’s sparkling would be. After all, Sideways only came for the unborn and young that were promised for greatness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter, but important for Sentinel in its own way. Also, I wanted to hint a little bit more about what Elita really is.


	18. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

“Hmm …. Hm … Hmmmmmmm. Hm. Hmmmmm.”

It was a sad tone, the humming that echoed over his confinement in the ship’s medical bay. It was nice how Sonic Trip seemed to visit him so often after the Sideways’ fairy tale incident. Personally, he liked to think the tale was silly and yet he found himself afraid that that shadow was real, that it was after him. Sonic Trip, if either feeling his fear or fearing the silly superstition herself, had become a regular in his quiet room. She would talk sometimes, tell him what a bright light the sparkling might be if he decided to keep it, but mostly she would just hum or sing because she knew he wasn’t ready to decide.

He had been so dead set on aborting it, but now he didn’t know if he wanted it or not. Personally, he didn’t know if he had a choice. He had swollen so much lately that he seemed ready to pop and though the scientists assured him that the spark hadn’t dropped into its casing yet, he was sure he’s go into labor any cycle now.

Swallowing the fear of pushing something alive out of his port, or anything for that matter, he tried to pay close attention to the femme’s song and the clinking in her hand. It almost sounded like she was making something, sewing something together from soft mesh fabric. He had wanted to ask what it was, but he knew she would just chuckle and say he’d have to wait and _see_.

He personally was getting sick of her ‘blind’ jokes but was thankful for her presence nonetheless. Her humming always seemed to be there when he needed it most. In the darkness, Sonic Trip’s voice was like a tether in a storm, his life line to sanity. She was a thing to chase away the _shadow_.

Primus, that story had really gotten to him.

Suddenly, the femme working on one thing or another at his berth side as she hummed her song, there was a groaning to the ship’s engine, the ship shaking slightly as it slowly came to a halt. Sentinel swallowed, horror filling his spark, the engine stalling.

Why were they stopping? It was too soon for Docker City, wasn’t it? Were they being boarded? Had the Deception’s found them? Or, more terribly so, had the Autobots found him?

Sensing his panic, a hand quickly curled around his damaged fingers and he gripped the femme’s hand greedily.

“Shh, it’s alright Rift Ring. It’s probably just the doctor. He’s just a little early,” she said kindly. “Restart said he would come and check on your damage and once you’re stable he’ll,” her voice stalled for a moment, “check the _rest_. I will go check to make sure it’s him though.”

Sentinel merely nodded and allowed the femme to leave, hoping to gather his thoughts. Truthfully, he knew he wasn’t trapped anymore like he had felt on Cybertron. He might even survive this with his reputation intact … but the big question was: _what then_? Would he want to return to a dead end position that labeled him as a traitor by default? Did he want that? Was the position even still there? He had not contacted anyone in the last few Orns. Perhaps there was no going back. Maybe he had already been labeled as a turncoat? And yet that thought didn’t bother him as much as it should have. Then again, he knew for a fact that the science team was drugging him with anti-depressants. Personally, he thought they were overdosing him … was he supposed to feel so little right now? Shouldn’t he be scared? What if it couldn’t be aborted? Was he to be a resident of Docker City? Just another rape victim?

Sentinel nearly jumped out of his armor when he heard several voices talking, his fake name mentioned from time to time. His injured form couldn’t help but tighten all over when he heard the door open, a soft intellectual voice rambling on only to stall, vents pulling in. The last few mega-cycles the scientists had been trying to place him back together, but truthfully Sentinel had no idea how bad it was since their work never seemed to be done.

And given how he just stole the entering mech’s breath he couldn’t help but ask himself: just how badly had he damaged himself?

Perhaps a sparklet was the least of his problems.

“Oh my … this is much, _much_ worse than what you described Skyfire,” said the voice, empathetic and yet he had the same electronic tones as Perceptor. Secretly, Sentinel was paranoid of the orange mech in Autobot Headquarters. A part of him was sure Perceptor kept a collection of hard drive mech brains in his room and stared at them at night. That mech was just creepy.

Luckily, this mech obviously still had his emotions if his next words were any indication.

“Child,” said the voice as he came over to Sentinel, a small hand gentling touching his shoulder but far from invasive, “Are you in pain? Oh, your legs … and your optics. Even your hands.”

Sentinel bit his glossa and stilled the harsh tones he wanted to use. Skyfire had found this mech in confidence and for the science team alone he would remain as calm and collected as he could even after being called _child_. After all, they had welded his wounds and fed his blind aft for the past orn like it was their joy to do so. They would even chat with him as they worked on his broken body. He could still hear the sorrow in their voice though and yet … he found that he valued their thoughts more than the Magnus’ as the days drew on. Not that he would ever admit that aloud. It was almost a treasonous thought, but then again the Magnus’ orders were half the reason he was in this bind.

So, for them, he’d mind his glossa. Besides this was the mech that would be helping him with his little _problem_.

“Not as much as you’d think,” darkly joked Sentinel. “I haven’t felt below anything the waist in cycles and emotionally I’m drugged to the point that if Primus died I probably wouldn’t cry.”

There was a moment of silence before Restart spoke softly, presumably to Skyfire, “You have him on anti-depressants? How much? Is it reacting with the pain reducers you are using for his legs? That is a dangerous mix, Skyfire. Anyone with any medical training would know those medicines don’t go together.”

Clearing his throat, probably feeling embarrassed that he was being chided like a first steller cycle student, the jet murmured, “We aren’t giving him anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything … because of an injury. We didn’t have the equipment to see what it was … but he have a good guess.”

“Oh,” said the voice, followed by an almost forlorn, “ _Ooh_ , that can’t be good. That can’t be good at all. I think we have more problems than we think we do. Well, I supposed we should have a look, shan’t we Rift Ring?”

…

Sentinel whimpered as the healer closed his chassis what felt like groons later.

His voice was soft, a whisper, as if ashamed about having reached so deep inside Sentinel, in more ways than one. He had to press his fingers under loose bindings and around healing wounds, poking at empty eye sockets and between shy legs … or at least what was left of them. And finally, when a sob threatening to choke him, Restart finished by placing calculated hands on his spark. What made it worse was that the mech always knew when to apologize and when the place a warm hand upon his own. Restart obviously knew how to deal with mechs in Sentinel’s position and the blue mech personally didn’t know if that made him feel better or not. For one, it meant that other mechs and femmes had felt the way he did right now, but it also meant he was no different. His emotions were merely being reacted to by well practiced skills. He had no idea if the doctor meant his empathy or not.

“Alright,” said Restart, in a chipper voice that was probably meant to be encouraging. “The worst part is over now. Examinations are always unpleasant … even for mechs that aren’t Heavy so do not feel bad or embarrassed about anything that happened during it.”

“Not even when my valve squeezed around your fingers like a whore bot?” bit Sentinel bitterly, a shake in his voice. Luckily though, his shaking had gotten so bad during that part of the examination that he didn’t even get a full valve examination. There was no ripping and the valve was acting normal apparently so a scan of the sparkling’s shell had been sufficient.

That didn’t mean that Sentinel could keep the tears from dripping down the sides of his face unfortunately. Though Restart, thankfully, never commented on the show of emotion.

A soft sigh escaped the doctor and a warm hand was placed onto his own. A voice that was professional and yet sympathetic at the same time answered, “As I explained when I took off the cod piece, it is normal to be so wet down there, especially so far in the carrying because your hips are shifting and lubing for the coming birthing.”

Sentinel winced at that. He didn’t need those thoughts right now.

As if seeing his discomfort when it came to the sparkling, the medic decided to leave that subject until last. Instead, he decided to list off the other horrors that had been done to his body.

“Well, we’ll talk about that later. As of now though, let’s go over your other injuries. I think the most apparent thing is your optics. They obviously were damaged and removed. Luckily, I brought a set. They are not blue, merely white, but we can have those in within the next groon if you like. Also, I think it is fairly obvious that you know that your legs were mangled in the fall. One is salvageable from the knee up … the other will have to be replaced from the hip down.”

Sentinel winced at that, knowing all too well that he would not be walking anytime soon. True, even if he did hide the pregnancy from the Autobots … how about the jumping to his death part? He could lie. He knew that, but what kind of lie would he offer the medics when they asked about it?

The closest thing to the truth, he supposed. He could just say he fell in a cavern.

It was a weak lie and it left a lot of unanswered questions like why he didn’t call the Autobots for help or why he was there to begin with, but he would think of something to fill the gaps. Primus, just thinking about lying to his fellow Autobots made him feel sick to his tank. Autobots did not lie like that. He was starting to sound more and more like a Decepticon.

Perhaps, he should not go back to the Autobots.

Pressing a hand on his swelling abdomen, Sentinel’s mind dwelled for a moment on that idea: of not going back. He could stay in Docker City. He knew some mechs now and … and maybe he could keep the sparkling.

And yet, just as quickly as the thought came, Sentinel banished the idea. He loved Cybertron too much to just run away. Plus, it would always be a regret of his if he left, and what if he was later caught? He would be called in for treason given how much information he contained from his positions. Also, he wouldn’t be able to hide a sparkling then. He would go to prison and if he had kept the sparkling … it would go to a youngling center and be ridiculed. They would probably even label him or her as a half breed. That is no life for a child.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he had just died.

“You won’t be able to walk or transform for a while after they are repaired,” interrupted the healer’s voice into Sentinel’s darkening thoughts, “But they can be replaced. Now, as for your chassis and back … I cannot say the same.”

Sentinel swallowed, feeling the tension in the healer’s vocals as he murmured, “Just out with it. There is no point in sugar coating it.”

“Well, your chassis is heavily scarred and may have marks for vorns to come,” said the doctor, Sentinel cringing at the thought that he would look like an old war veteran, “but it’s your back I would be worried about. Your spinal strut was damaged,” Sentinel took in a sharp breath, thinking he was going to be permanently crippled; there just were some pieces that couldn’t be replaced, “but do not panic. It wasn’t separated. It was just dislocated which can be set, but that brings me to the next problem.”

Trying to keep calm, Sentinel found he could only swallow, any words of dread lodged in his throat.

“You see, given how far along you are in the carrying, your body should have dropped the sparkling’s spark into his shell already, but the tubing from your spark to the carrying chamber has been pushed to the side slightly by your crooked spinal strut. Now, this is easy enough to fix, but here comes the hard part,” stated Restart with a sigh. “If we fix your spine now … the tubing with straighten and your body will sense the repair, dropping the sparklet and as I’m sure you are away, once the spark is in its shell, we will not abort a sparkling. It’s too far in the carrying for that.”

Sentinel choked slightly, but somehow found himself remaining silent as the doctor continued.

“The other option is to abort the sparkling’s shell before the spark can drop and thus when the spark falls and there is no protoform there to greet it … it will fizzle out,” said the doctor professionally, having done the procedure before and not at all squeamish about the subject. “Now, the only problem with doing this before the spinal correction is that it could damage the spinal strut. You see, the strut is currently being supported by the swelled and full carrying chamber which is probably why you have some feeling in your higher thigh area, but not your legs.”

Choking, Sentinel threw a hand over his mouth. This wasn’t happening!

“Now, now, don’t panic. An abortion might not disturb the spinal strut … but if you want to be on the safe side … we have wonderful orphanages in Docker City,” added Restart quickly before the other could meltdown.

“So,” forced Sentinel, his voice almost gone. “I don’t really get a choice in the matter when it comes to the sparking. I have to keep it.”

Silent for a moment, knowing all too well he had to speak carefully, Restart murmured, “As always … the choice will always be yours. And, please forgive me if I sound hypocritical, but as with every life choice we make, there is always a price to be paid. This one … is just a little heavier than most.”

Sentinel, hands digging into his berth as tears started to drip down his optic-less face, was silent for what felt like an eternity before he whispered, “Life isn’t fair.”

Restart, sighing, added, “Who ever told you life was fair?”

Sentinel, a sob catching in his throat, silently agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. I haven’t had a lot of spare time and this isn’t exactly a story I can take to work and work on. Anyway, I’m really trying to get to the next story arch so I can have a time skip. Ugh, when did this plot line get so long? Also, thanks for anyone who drops a review. I know Sentinel isn’t a popular character so any reviews are appreciated.


	19. A Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Sentinel felt like he had lied there forever, staring at his hands. Well, his mangled hands. He still hadn’t given Restart an answer yet and the healer had already replaced his optics and started on his legs. The mech said it was best to work on his legs while he couldn’t feel anything. Luckily, the healer had the foresight to at least put a sheet up so he could not see the work being done, but it had been three steller cycles since they had had the talk about his spinal strut and one could just feel the tension on the ship.

He could have cut through it with his lance it was so thick. Not that Sentinel blamed the mech; he really did look swollen and ready to pop. He knew they couldn’t wait much longer. He had to make a decision. True, if he kept it, the sparkling would be delivered in the middle of space as they headed towards Docker City … if he didn’t keep it he could injure his spinal strut further and perhaps become disabled.  

Oh, choices.

And yet, as he stared at the swollen metal around his abdomen, he found a deep sorrow at the thought of the second option. This thing, this sparkling, would love him unconditionally. A deep part of him knew that and … yearned for it. Not the sparkling in particular, in all honesty, but someone to love. Someone to share his thoughts and life with. Someone to take care of and that would take care of him in turn. Yes, if he kept the sparkling he would do most of the caring, but he had seen children comfort their creators and fill their sparks with joy. After all of this, the depression and his tick and his career falling through … it would be nice to know that someone would love him despite becoming a nobody and a failure.

It would be nice to be loved unconditionally.

Yes, he would have preferred someone to bond with and share his life. A pretty femme, someone like Elita-1.  

Though, looking at his swelling belly, he knew that would never happen now. Even if he did abort it or give away the sparkling, he doubted he would be able to find a femme. Femmes just seem to know when a mech had carried. And though it was not taboo, since the loss of Allspark and femmes higher fertility rates, most femmes would rejected a mech that had carried for it showed that the mech’s carrying chamber was healthier than his nanites. He didn’t know why that bothered femmes. Perhaps, it was a survival instinct that the species had imbedded in itself when their population had suffered during the war with the loss of so many model types. Or perhaps it was just the lack of the Allsparks presence in their youthful society, but he expected nothing but rejection from the femmes in the future.  

As for the subject of finding a mech, Sentinel couldn’t even bear the thought. For one, he just wasn’t sexually attracted to most mech types with their bulky frames. And given that he had carried, he would probably always be the mech on bottom and he wouldn’t be able to handle that. He doubted he would ever want anything in his valve again actually. Primus, he couldn’t even take a full medical evaluation the equipment.  

Besides, even though she was more of a nightmare now days, he knew he would never get over Elita-1.  He would never love again. At least not romantically, but the sparkling would love him … especially if it was anything like Optimus.           

Wincing at the thought, Sentinel pressed down on his belly, wishing that the shell had life for a moment so he could feel it move, so he wouldn’t be alone with his new revelation.

Yes, Optimus was a good mech. He … had done nothing wrong in the sewers or really ever except for caring too much. He was a good mech, better than him. They had been friends due to his kindness and if Elita hadn’t been there to distract him … it might have even become romantic. There was just something about Optimus Prime, pure and resilient that deserved respected. True, he knew he would never have the levels of empathy that Optimus did, but he had the rules and they were just as good. Following the rules showed fairness and caring for a society at whole.

Too bad that never got him anywhere.

It just gained him hate.

So, perhaps he deserved it. Perhaps, he came off as cruel. After all, Sentinel had always trusted the Magnus’ opinions and the Magnus had called him faulty, a failure in oh so many words. Perhaps, he wasn’t meant to have his dreams come true. Perhaps, given the choice, fate had decided that if this rape was going to happen, Optimus was more important and Sentinel was stronger. He could bare the memories and the truth of the sparkling’s dark creation alone. He could do this alone.

And so, a sob escaping his throat, a deep part of him accepted the death of his dreams and the loss of fate’s favor, and he called Restart into the room.

He had made his decision.  

…

 “So … is it true?”

Aquila, looking up from his digi-pad, gave the femme a bored look from across the galley table, his expression un-amused.

“Oh I don’t know, the temporary nursery might just be for show Sonic Trip. You know, we love doing stuff like that. It amuses us greatly,” said the flier sarcastically, the femme giving him a look.

“You are just mad that they put it in your room and are making you room with your brother for the remainder of the trip,” she joked, still too excited at the prospect to be put down by the jet’s foul attitude. “I … just can’t believe he is going to keep it. This is wonderful. There is just something about that sparkling. I can feel it. He or she will have a destiny.”

“A destiny, huh?” murmured Aquila as Graph gave him a glare from over the counter. “I didn’t think you were the superstitious type.”

“I’m not,” said the femme, her optics staring at a roaming shadow on the wall for a moment before she kindly accepted a warm energon cup from the group’s designated cook, Graph. “There are just some things that you know. And I know you think that Primus has punished Rift Ring by doing this to him, but I look at it a different way. Primus gave him a light. Primus gave him a gift.”

It was then, Aquila giving the femme a confused expression that Skyfire stumbled in, the smell of solvent and medical cleaners on his body as he happily proclaimed, “The back strut surgery was a success … and the sparkling dropped safely not even nano-clicks later. In fact, the spark is bonding with the shell abnormally fast. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rift Ring will be going into labor in a mega-cycle or two. It seems he or she really wants to come out and meet the world.”

And so, despite the sparkling’s far from friendly origins, Sonic Trip’s words started to ring true, because that night there was a small celebration among the crew. A sparkling that hadn’t even been born yet was the cause for the celebration, for it had become a light at the end of a grueling tunnel.

The sparkling, the light, that Sentinel had decided to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, and an overall happy chapter. Also, we are almost done with this story arch of the tale. One birthing scene later and then we are going to have a time skip. Then will begin the final arch of this story. Yes, I can see an end in sight!


	20. The Search Continues

“Oh wow … wow, look at that one and that one. Ugh, he’s kind of fugly. And was that a femme? Bots, that was a femme!’ said Hot Shot as he gapped and pointed and was basically his usual annoyance.

Brawn, the more sullen of the team and yet somehow Hot Shot’s babysitter half the time, frowned and slapped the young bot in the back of the helm as he murmured, “What’s wrong with that femme? She looks fine to me.”

Hot Shot, who had been nothing but a gapping idiot since they got to Docker City, looked up at the large bulky Autobot and gave a nervous grin as he rubbed the back of his head, “N-nothing … except I totally thought she was a mech until she started putting on lip paint.”

Brawn, after taking a moment to look shocked, slowly started to roll his hand into a fist as if to protect the honor of bulky femmes everywhere. Rodimus, noticing this, quickly interrupted as he stepped between the two, “Enough, especially you Hot Shot, stop staring and pointing and gawking. That behavior is very unbecoming … especially since this is not an Autobot Colony. We need to be on our best behavior. Interactions like this are rare enough as it is … especially with Docker City.”

Yeah,” murmured the young mech as he watched two large, winged and purple opticed femmes walk by, a sparkling with pink optics in one of their arms. “But … there are so many optic colors and I never imagined I would see someone with red optics that didn’t want to kill me.”

This time it was Red Alert that smack the young bot in the back of the head, her voice a hoarse whispered, “Quit. I already told you that most of this population was created from less than _willing_ couplings, Hot Shot. It is rude to stare.”

“But the wings … and the size and the optics and … and…”

“Hot Shot,” said Rodimus, his tone now slightly irritated. “I will send you back to the docks and the ship if you don’t show some self-restraint. Yes, many of these mechs and femmes were create from less than loving couplings. That is not their fault, but just like you are acting right now, mechs treated them badly for the characteristics they received from one of their creators. That is why they made this city … so they could be rid of the gawkers and those that would discriminate against them. So, please desist before you make some-bot angry.”

Hot Shot took a moment to look ashamed, before he weakly nodded his head, “I understand … I just couldn’t help myself.”

Nodding as well, accepting that as the best apology he was going to get, the Prime motioned for his group to gather round as he pulled up a vid-map of the city. They all gathered around, already knowing the game plan … though Rodimus had long since learned that some mechs in the group, pretty much all of them except for Red Alert, got distracted easily and needed to be reminded what their job was.

“Alright team, first of all, please be on your best behavior. Things are not exactly shaky with Docker City, but they aren’t good either. We have very few peace treaties with them and basically no trade. Probably our own fault since we won’t even recognize them as their own self sustaining, neutral, city-state, but that is beside the point,” added Rodimus, his own political opinion on the matter peaking through for a moment. “That is why I have already called ahead and asked to be here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t retract their invitation. Now, Ironhide and Hot Shot, I’m going to ask you two to go to local hotels and ask if anyone has seen Sentinel … or this Rift Ring as the dock worker called him.”

Hot Shot moaned at this, but otherwise nothing was said.

“Brawn, I would like you to check into some of local bar joints. I still don’t think it’s entirely implausible that he’s drinking away his sorrows,” said Rodimus.

Hot Shot, for his part, looked insulted, “What? Why does he get the fun job?”

“Because,” said Rodimus with a stern tone. “You didn’t graduate that long ago from the Academy … which means that you are not old enough for high grade. _Unless_ , you’ve been doing something behind my back that you shouldn’t be doing?”

Ironhide snorted at this while Hot Shot merely looked a guilty like his hand had been caught in the energon cookie jar.

“Well, I, no … it’s not like I’ve been sneaking medical high grade or anything … or …,” stumbled Hot Shot before Brawn let loose a bellowing laugh at what a bad liar the youth was, slapping him hardily on the back and nearly knocking him over.

Rodimus and the other older mechs did not look convinced as the chuckled or glared at the youngest member of the group. Rodimus personally didn’t blame the youth. He wasn’t that much older than Hot Shot, a few vorns, so he understood the want to be an adult and do adult things. Truthfully, Brawn and Red Alert were the oldest members of the team so he did not put the other down for his age.

“Regardless,” continued Rodimus, interrupting the awkward conversation. “Brawn will check the local bars. Red Alert will check with the local hospitals and … morgues. And I will check with the city’s private guard. Everyone got that?”

There were murmurs of affirmative and sure thing, and then the Prime added, “We meet back at the ship in five groons. Everyone clear? Alright, roll out.”

…

“Ugh…. If one more mech looks at us as if we are a couple looking for a room, I’m going to offline myself,” grumbled Hot Shot as he stumbled out of the last rooming establishment.

Ironhide merely chuckled at the thought, though he did mumbled, “At least that last place gave us an idea of what Sentinel’s been up to.”

“Yeah, if you can make any sense out of it? Why would he put in an inquiry about organics? He hates organics,” grumbled Hot Shot as he tried not to stare at a blue opticed flier.

“Yeah, it is confusing … though that last hotel hostess made me wonder, who do you think she thought was the pitcher and the catcher?” said Ironhide, a wicked grin covering his face as he mocked the other.

Hot Shot, flabbergasted for the moment, didn’t even get to defend himself when the larger mech added, “Pff, that was a stupid question. Of course she knew I would be the pitcher.”

“W-wait? What! No, no. no!” tired to defend the younger mech, a blush lighting up his cheeks.

“Well, small mechs always get the bottom, runt. You better learn that now, but don’t worry,” said Ironhide as he pulled out a cy-gar, smiling wickedly down at the other bot. “I’m not into your model.”

The smaller mech could only blush harder and grumble, “Thank Primus for small favors.”

Ironhide, looking at the digi-map of the city as he smoked his cy-gar, merely chuckled at the other, “Oh, I don’t know about that Hot Shot. If that last mech teller hadn’t thought we were together, he would have been snatching up your aft so fast you would have had whiplash. You do know that seeker-models kidnap their prospective mates and bed them in nests, way up high, don’t-chay?”

“Wait? What? Na-uh! Y-you’re lying, right? Right?!” squeaked Hot Shot, nearly jumping out of his armor when a seeker model gave him a smile from a nearby vendor.

…

“Hick. What? Really? They went to this Archa 7, and it’s in the middle of nowhere? Dang. And you are sure Sentinel, _hick_ , I mean Rift Ring went with that science team. Science really … isn’t his thing,” slurred Brawn, half crocked out of his helm as the larger mix breed mechs gave him another drink.

“Sure do. Pretty little mech. Dang nice aft.  I would have tried tapping that if he looked like he was staying. Though I can’t wait for the team to come back, Aquila went with them and he’s a fun drunk. Let me just tell you.”

Brawn nodded in agreement, though he had no idea who Aquila was … or why he had started drinking … or who he was talking to for that matter. How much had he had in the last groon? All he knew was that he was glad that he was given this part of the mission and that his helm was going to hurt in the morning.

…

Red Alert was quite impressed with how well stocked the hospitals in Docker City were … and yet at the same time she wasn’t surprised. She, like every medic on Cybertron that had any type of education, knew what happened at Docker City. It specialized in birthing … and abortions. In fact, if she didn’t believe that Sentinel was suicidal, she would think that Sentinel had come to this city for the one thing it specialized in: pregnancies.

She didn’t know who would want to sleep with that jerk, for that matter share their spark with him, but then again she didn’t want to imagine what kind of mech would be into Sentinel.

For a brief moment she almost chuckled because there seemed to be only one mech interested in Sentinel Minor and that was Optimus’ Prime. It was a ridiculous thought.

Regardless, she knew this was no time for fun and games, not that she considered herself much of a game person; she preferred a quiet evening with her test tubes and scalpels. And so she found herself before the hospital’s director’s door. She knocked kindly, having been directed and called ahead for by a nurse. Nonetheless, she still couldn’t get the chill out of her armor that there were abortions going on right now in the building. And though she knew the importance of the procedure and how some mechs just couldn’t support a sparkling, her Autobot coding refused to have any leeway and labeled it as a bad practice.

Nevertheless, this wasn’t her city. She had no say about anything in this place.

And so she promised to be as distant from the subject as possible as she spoke to the head director.

Surprisingly, the director was a small femme with kind optics (despite being a haunting pink color that hinted to her origins) that had answered all of her questions as if she knew all the answers. Code, the director, said knew nothing of a mech called Sentinel Minor or his alias: Rift Ring. She kindly reported that there were no mechs matching Sentinel’s description that had been placed in the morgue or had been hospitalized for self-inflicted wounds. She hadn’t even twitched at the subject matter. Most healers on Cybertron would have thought the idea preposterous. It was so rare for a mech to overcome their coding and be able to offline themselves, but Code was not surprised at all. In fact, she said there was a lovely physiological wing to the hospital where Sentinel could come and stay if need be until he recovered. Her tone was almost happy when she expressed this.  

It was a bit disturbing how she carried that smile on her face the whole time, calm and collected. She was obviously a femme that had seen many horrors and likely believed the best way to get through the day was with a smile on her face.

In the end, after being given a few names of local prescriptions for anti-depressants that could be purchased in the city, the only real piece of information that was later of any use to the femme was something she overheard. Walking down the halls, past a door labeled Dr. Restart, she overheard a nearby nurse telling another nurse that Restart had been sent off planet to patch up a strange neutral with blue optics that had almost got himself offlined. She knew about it because the list of replacement armor just kept growing and now they might need to contact an orphanage. Apparently, the injured neutral had had a tag along and not even known that he was carrying. It had likely been a rape.

Too bad she did not realize how important that information was until vorns later, her mind too busy wondering if Sentinel was still alive or not to question the name of Restart and his patient.   

…

“So, he didn’t seem like he was up to anything suspicious then?” asked Rodimus as he stood before the captain of the city’s private guard.

“I met him briefly when he asked to enter the city, but he didn’t seem nefarious. Why? Is there something I should be aware of. He is currently with a party of Docker City citizens and their safety is my concern,” said Trimmer. A tall and broad mech, helicopter blades hanging over his shoulders like a cape. He was a regal figure and Rodimus would be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. He was obviously an old and powerful soldier and Rodimus wanted to ask if Trimmer was really a half breed or a full bred Con. The mech was just so well built and bulky and as frightening as the pit. He even had red optics … but they had this deep sadness to them that a Con could never know. 

Shaking off the rude thought, Rodimus continued, “No, no. Sentinel has always been an avid, rule enthusiast. He wouldn’t harm anyone.”

“Is that so?” said the large mech, his vocals deep and baritone and strangely soothing. “And yet he disobeyed your peoples’ laws, went AWOL, and took on a secret identity. Sentinel Minor does not seem to be a rule enthusiast … unless his enthusiasm is in breaking the rules.”

Rodimus Prime, forcing a meek smile, stiffly murmured, “Well, yes. He is no longer a picture candidate, but he was. He was so loyal to the Magnus and Cybertron. He has never shown an ounce of disloyalty until now. That is why we are not jumping to judgment on the matter.”

Optics squinting, the large copter hummed for a moment in thought, his blades twitching slightly as he asked bluntly, “And yet, for one that was a picture candidate, you have to wonder what could make him abandon your cause so easily?”

Rodimus could find no reply to the question.

And so, about a groon after getting a star map from the Captain of the Guard for the planet Sentinel’s science team had headed to, Rodimus still couldn’t get over the large mech’s words. Really, had the punishment been too harsh for Sentinel Minor? Did losing his status (that he could probably gain again in a few vorns) really matter so much when he obviously had abused his power?

Automatically, one would have said no. Sentinel deserved his punishment … and yet Rodimus felt that wasn’t the real problem. The ex-Prime had not fought to keep his position. He hadn’t screamed and kicked and yelled as he was stripped of his title. There was a deeper sadness there. A sadness that made him believe that Red Alert was correct … and that they would be taking home a body.

Regardless of Timmer’s words though, Rodimus now stood at their ship’s controls looking over his team, his frown apparent, “So, he’s made an inquiry looking for teams doing organic exploration and he left with a science team to a planet called Archa 7. And that … is all we know of Sentinel’s plans.”

“Yes, well at least he’s not offline,” agreed Red Alert, the two of them having not expressed their concerns of Sentinel being suicidal to the rest of the group though it was always heavily apparent. “So, what do you think? Do you think that he abandoned the Autobot cause for … organic research on Archa 7?”

For a moment, the team all looked at each other and then Brawn, Hot Shot and Ironhide broke out in laughter, almost all of them agreeing that that was the most ridiculous thing they had ever heard. Sentinel’s organic phobia was known far and wide.

Then, as the laughter slowly died, a darker thought started to churn in all their minds. Rodimus, clearing his throat, spoke softly, “So the question is: what is Sentinel Minor up to and should we be concerned or not?”

Everyone frowning, Ironhide was the first to answer the question, “Either way, I think we should inform the Magnus or at least Optimus Prime. Sentinel will still have to answer for his behavior.”

“I agree,” said Rodimus a moment later as he motioned for the other’s to get to work. “Start prepping the ship for the long journey. I will contact the Magnus with our news.”

Red Alert, on the other servo, merely stood there with a forlorn expression on her face as the other’s rushed to their respective duties. Most of the team thought they would have to go to a no name organic planet and waste their time on a lowly turncoat. She thought something much, much worse. If Sentinel never wanted to be found or if he wanted it to look like an accident, an organic planet like Archa 7 would be perfect for suicide. Frowning, softly, she hoped that if there would be a body found … it wouldn’t be young Hot Shot that found it or for that matter anyone but her. She had seen this before. Her spark was already scarred by the thoughts of one of their kind offlining themselves. No one else should have to have their spark darkened by such images.

And yet, as if reading her thoughts, a kind red hand was placed on her shoulder, Rodimus whispering, “Don’t underestimate him Red Alert. He may be a jerk, but he was still an Autobot and an Autobot is stubborn and does not die easily. If you are right, a part of him is still fighting and trying to do the right thing. Hopefully, he will let us save him. He knows that we don’t leave our own behind.”

Red Alert slowly nodded her head, praying her Prime was right. She just hoped there was someone left to save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, sorry for the lateness. I’ve been working on my personal novel and short stories. Sometimes I put them on Fictionpress. Feel free to check it out.


	21. The Hardest Part

Sentinel lay there, trying not to look at the shadows. He had told himself long ago that Sonic Trip’s fairy tale was just that … a story to frighten sparklings. And yet, sometimes when he was not paying attention or when his mind was elsewhere, he would see the shadows move or hear something like a rusted, rotting joint creaking just outside the hallway. It disturbed him and he did his best to ignore it. He had bigger problems than supernatural paranoia after all. Like … what was he going to do when the sparkling came?

He still hadn’t decided. Part of him wasn’t against the idea of keeping the sparkling, but if he did that … would he have to live in Docker City? There was no going back to Cybertron. Then again, he could just give the sparkling up and pretend it had never happened. He could go back and claim drunkenness or … or something.

Moaning, a hand being placed on his head as a helm ache set in, the mech shook his head. He had been over this thought so many times. He couldn’t have both: the Autobots and the sparkling. It wasn’t like he could explain away his disappearance, set up a nursery in his flat and never tell anyone about him having a sparkling at home. That would be ridiculous, right?

Optics going wide for a moment, hand on his belly, Sentinel was about to consider the idea a little more seriously when suddenly … there was a sharp pain in his abdomen.

Sentinel automatically doubled over as he placed a calming hand on his swollen abdomen, his spark hammering. Venting in air, the mech was very still as he waited for another jolt of pain to come. When one did not, he wondered if it was a freak pain and yet as he sat up straight dwelling on if he should tell the doc-bot immediately or not, another pain came again along with a choked scream.

Sentinel, energon-spittle now dripping down his chin as he tried to gather himself. He might have even pressed that second pain off given his still damaged body … until he felt and then saw fluid start to seep from underneath his cod piece and all over his berth.

His spark hammer, the mech swallowed. I-it was too soon. He hadn’t even made a choice yet.  

…

“And you are sure that he is of no danger to you or the rest of the crew? Rodimus Prime seemed dead set on finding him and the simple tale of him being a deserter seems weak. This Rift Ring or Sentinel Minor as they call him just doesn’t desert for nothing. Are you sure you are safe around him, Sonic Trip. If anything happened to you, your carrier-“

“I am fine, sire,” said Sonic Trip with forced enthusiasm. True, Trimmer wasn’t her real sire, but he was the mech that bonded with her carrier and gave Radio Wave a second chance at life and two more sparklings. She loved Trimmer, she did. He was just … suffocating sometimes and his expectations were a little too much for her. He really wanted her to join the city guard with him and stop this crazy adventuring of hers, but she … she didn’t know what she wanted.

“Fine? They sent a whole team of armed Autobots all the way to Docker City for him. Sonic Trip, give me one good reason not to head there myself or tell the Prime where his lost-“

“He is Heavy!” sudden blurted out the femme, not knowing what else to tell her adoptive caretaker.

Trimmer, rearing back for a moment, frowned deeply and then asked, “What? Who?”

“Rift Ring,” said Sonic Trip, unable to look the older mech in the optic. “He … he came with us to … to hurt himself … because he had been taken advantage of … and when we were putting him back together we noticed he was with … spark.”

Timmer, his helicopter blades spread out, stared for a moment in surprised before he gained his usual collected expression, murmuring, “I… understand. Archa 7 would be a good place to hide away and … conceal your shames. It also explains why Restart was sent and not someone more skilled in field medicine.”

For a moment there was an awkward silence that settled over the ship’s control room before the mech sighed and asked softly, “Was It a Con? How far is he along? I haven’t given the Autobots your ship’s route yet so … you could miss each other or I could … misguide them. You know we are always ready to welcome more brothers and sisters into our midst.”

Sighing, the femme rubbed her arm, feeling like a youngling in his presence. It had been a while since they had really talked. She purposely kept herself busy.

“Well … I don’t know what his plans are … after the birth,” said Sonic Trip carefully.

Nodding carefully, crossing his arms, he asked, “How far is he? Can he hide it from the Autobots?”

Thinking of how big Rift Ring was, the femme shook her head, “No, since he’s now in-taking the right amount of energon and minerals … he’s gotten very large, quickly in fact. I would say he is about to …”

“Pop?” said Trimmer, a soft smile on his face since he knew it was phrase Radio Wave always used to explain himself in that stage of the carrying.

“Yeah, pop,” chuckled the femme slightly before she gained a more professional tone. “Sire, please distract the Autobots. Rift Ring’s sparkling is special … I just know it. And he just needs to be away from them.”

“Oh, and want makes you say that?” asked Trimmer, sharing a tentative smile.

The femme, slowly remembering why she loved Trimmer despite his pressing requests for her to become a guard, nearly bulked when a scream echoed over the halls. She, giving her sire a worried glance, whispered, “That was Rift Ring. I… I need to go.”

“Wait, wait … Sonic Trip-”

“Bye sire, gotta go. T-that’s probably the sparkling,” said the femme, her destination none other than the medical bay. “Love you!”

Trimmer, left to stare at the screen, sighed. Well, he had nothing better to do right now. Now what was Rodimus’ Prime’s number.

…

“No, no, no! Please stop it. Ugh! I changed my mind … I-I can’t do this,” wailed Sentinel as he wrapped his hands around abdominal plating, cleaner already dripping down his face plates, his optics shivering as he watched a bluish liquid slowly dribble from between his legs and onto the berth.

Restart, in the room the moment Sentinel had first wailed about a sharp pain in his lower abdomen plating, stalled as he stared at the unadulterated fear in the blue mech’s face. Quickly shutting the door before anyone else could come in during such a vulnerable time for the young bearer, the healer slowly came up to the berth and sat down on the edge of it, taking the panicking mech’s hands into his own. Generally, he tried to keep a professional distance but the mech obviously did not mind physical contact when distraught.

In fact, he craved it. He probably had been loved as a child, held often, and doubtlessly spoiled. If Rift Ring decided to keep the sparkling … he likely would be a dotting parent. 

“Sentinel, calm yourself. We spoke briefly of this. What’s now happening is perfectly normal in the birthing stage. In fact the liquid that is coming out of your valve is just the liquid that has encased the sparkling’s sack. The sparking is just dropping into position. You will have sharp pains that will progressively get shorter and shorter in between each other until … it comes time to push. That, unfortunately, may take awhile. The first sparkling generally takes awhile to come out, but the important thing is not to panic … this is all normal right now,” said the healer softly, his voice even softer when he added. “Generally the sire would comfort you at this time, and generally I would stay if need be, but I have to prepare some equipment in case there are any … defects. I can ask one of the crew to sit with you while I prepare though.”

“No-no! You can’t leave me. What if something … something’s … ah-ahhhh,” suddenly wailed the young blue mech, suddenly clinging to the healer desperately as he went through a contraction.

Not knowing what else to do, the healer allowed the Autobot (he had no doubt what the mech’s allegiance was) to cling to him and choke as he went through his contraction, more fluid leaking out onto the berth. He watched the mech slowly loosen as the contraction ended, though it was easy to see the young carrier’s horror at seeing more fluid on the berth.  There was no point in cleaning it up though. The more contractions the young bot went through, the more fluid there would be. Even after the birth, there promised to be a lot of fluids.

Standing up, the blue mech almost panicking when he thought the healer was leaving him, but Restart merely opened a nearby cupboard that had soft mesh sheets in it. True, it was just going to get covered in fluids by the end of this cycle, but if it brought the young mech some comfort during his first and probably only birthing, then so be it.

Slowly covering up Sentinel’s legs, he sat on the edge of the berth and asked carefully, “It’s going to be a while still. Your contractions aren’t strong enough. So you want me to let in … Sonic Trip? You seem to value her company.”

Sentinel, calming down slightly now that he couldn’t see the puddle he was forming on the berth and no longer going through a contraction, nodded as he wiped a lone tear away. She always had a way of comforting him.

...

Sonic Trip’s hands shook as she waited outside of the med bay. So … it was time. She didn’t know if she should be excited or terrified that of everyone on the ship, Rift Ring wanted only her to sit by his side as if she were his bonded.

She had never had any sparklings of her own, but she did have two younger half-siblings. She recalled watching Trimmer hold her carrier when the sparkling started to drop, fluids everywhere. Her step-sire had been so scared. He was just petrified because he didn’t know if the sparkling would drop right or if her carrier would accidently abort or offline due to complications.

For a carrier to go through that alone … it was cruel.

So she finally came into the medical bay, trying to look confident as she nodded at Restart, noting Rift Ring’s soft sobs as he finished up what had to be another contraction.

“Thank you for doing this while I prepare,” said the healer as he rose from his perch next to Rift Ring on the berth. “I need to make some final arrangements before the sparkling comes and … I didn’t want him to be alone.”

“Neither would have I wanted him to be alone,” she admitted, her bulky form feeling tight and nervous. What if something went wrong on her watch? What if Rift Ring started offlining or if the sparkling suddenly popped out without warning or …

“You’ll be fine. If something really goes wrong, I’m a com-link,” said Restart, as if he was reading her mind.

Slowly, she nodded and then cautiously she walked up to the berth, placing a hand on Sentinel’s hand, noting how much bigger her hand was compared to the full bred Autobot. If she wanted, she could call on her Decepticon genetics and snap his neck or smash in his helm or rip off his arm or … she wasn’t cruel like her genetic sire, she reminded herself. She need not feel guilt for something she had no control in.

At least that was always what her Carrier would say and then he would always tell her to be kind. A Decepticon is not kind.

She was kind … despite where half of her genetics came from.

“How are you holding up Rift Ring?” said the femme as she slowly sat partially on the berth, facing the other as she tried to be personable. True, she could take this time to confront him about his real name, Sentinel Minor, or to warn him about the group of Autobots on his trail or something like that. But honestly, why add to his stress. Right now, there was only the sparkling and Rift Ring’s health in mind and how she hoped both would come through this without a hitch.

Vents shivering, struggling to keep it together as he cringed and waited for the next contraction to hit, he smiled weakly and murmured, “Wonderful, just wonderful. I’m in extreme pain, fluids are leaking everywhere and I’m going to be sniveling and crying in the next few moments pathetically during my next contraction. How do you think I feel?”

Smiling at the mech’s sarcasm, she nodded, “Well, I’m glad you feel wonderful. I was worried that you would be feeling lousy about having to squeeze something the size of your head out of your valve.”

Regardless of the coming agony he was about to face, Sentinel chuckled slightly as he murmured, “I don’t know if I can do this. I … it … just never seemed real until now.”

“Pain has a way of reminding mechs of things especially when its lingering,” said Sonic Trip carefully, before she added, “But … I think there’s a way to make it a little more bearable. I know I’m not your bonded, I don’t even know if you would call me a friend since we haven’t know each other very long, but my step sire would hold my carrier in an embrace. My carrier said it was a small comfort to have another beating spark so close. It helped calm his spark somewhat … I could … If would didn’t consider I too awkward or anything, hold you until its time. I mean … my big bulky form could at least be good for something.”

Sentinel, cringing as he waited for the next pain to come, found himself loosening somewhat, his face gaining a softness. Here was this big bulky femme, origins obvious, and yet she was so much more than he thought she would be. She was intuitive and powerful and spiritual and courteous. She was so very kind. This femme was more of an Autobot than some Autobots he knew … and she was more Autobot than he.

“You are beautiful Sonic Trip,” said Sentinel softly, “in the most important way … the spark. You have been more of a comfort to me in these last two groons than my own kind in vorns. I am glad to have met you … and I would be … honored to have your sit by side as if you were a bonded … or perhaps my sparkling’s Wellmick (a godmother). You have cared more for that sparkling than anyone in all the universe … even more than me so … if … you want … in case I don’t…”

Sonic Trip cut him off there, stating with a sad smile, “Yes, I would be honored to be the sparkling’s Wellmick, and Restart is one of the best. Don’t worry … the first one is always the hardest, but then again there is a reason they always say first.”

Sentinel smiled grimly, his form tight in anticipation of the next contraction. He knew it would be soon. He wanted to tell her that there would be no more sparkling’s from him. He might not even keep this one or Primus forbid a bonded, which was probably why he allowed the large femme to embrace him, to place his head on her chassis in a soft expression of platonic love. He honestly never knew if anyone would ever hold him again.

He didn’t think he would ever be able to love again after all.

…

“Ahhhh! Primus! Primmmusss!” screamed Sentinel as the contraction forcing him to push, Restart between his legs as Inquis assisted him. Sonic Trip merely sat at his side and held his hand … her own fingers likely being crushed.

“There you go, come on, push Rift Ring. You are almost there. You are already crowning … not much longer,” said the healer calmly as Sentinel collapsed back against the raised berth, his vents hiccupping.

“Y-you said that eight g-groons ago,” whimpered Sentinel as he felt another contraction coming on, coolant tears dripping down his face.

“The first one is always the hardest Sentinel. Your hips and cannel are being adjusted,” said Restart with a bitter smile. “If you would ever carry again … the birthing would be much easier.”

Sentinel, chuckling darkly, bit out, “Yeah … next time. Like that would help me … ah, ah… frag.”

“Okay, here comes a big one Rift Ring. Something’s coming … something …”

Restart, at first was worried, thinking the legs of the sparkling were coming first instead of the head as something thing started to pop out of the swollen and bleeding valve, but then there was a wet plopping noise as something shot out entirely. Restart, surprised, tried to grab it, thinking he was going to drop the sparkling on its head, but instead his hands caught and nearly dropped a wet tube like item. For a moment, Restart and Inquis both stared at the thing in his hands in confusion as the contraction ended and the blue mech plopped back on the berth, utterly exhausted.

“Is that … a baster?” finally said Inquis as he peered at the other, Restart looking over the fluid covered item with a critical optic.

“What? How? Do I even want to know?” said Restart completely befuddled by what he had just witnessed … and he had seen a lot of messed up things.

 Inquis, his blades falling back against his spinal strut, finally recalled Graph’s desperate search for the baster in the mess hall. So that was where that had went to, but how had it gotten …

“Ugh… Ah Primus!” suddenly cried Sentinel as he sat up, a contraction hitting him hard as he desperately tried to push again, fluid spilling everywhere in large quantities as the valve started to swell open as something was pressed down and against it. This was it. The sparkling was coming.

“This is it Rift Ring. Come on. I need a big push, a really big push. You can do it,” said the mech as he prepared himself to catch the slippery little creature when it came out.

“I-I can’t, I can’t. It’s too hard,” wailed Sentinel as the contraction continued, deep and painful, the young Carrier shaking as Sonic Trip kept him sitting up.

“No, you can, you have to. It’s the hardest right before the end. Come on, you are young. Push. Push!” all but barked Restart in a tone so unlike his. He hated yelling or using a cruel tone, but he had seen Carriers give up and then he would lose one or the other … or both. Rift Ring was so close. He just had to push a little more.

“Rift Ring. Push. I need you to push!”

“I can’t!” cried back Sentinel, his whole form exhausted and tired and aching. He just wanted to lie back down and be done. He was so tired. He just … wanted to offline his optics.

“Rift Ring, don’t you dare offline your optics,” barked Restart as worry started to overcome him. Rift Ring looked ready to pass out. If he passed out now … it was too late for a C-section. They both could offline.

Coming away from Sentinel’s leg, Inquis taking up the post quickly between those spread legs, Restart looked Sonic Trip in the optic and told her flatly, “I need you to help him push. If he doesn’t get this done soon he may pass out … and I don’t know if I can save both of them with the equipment I have available.”

Sonic Trip, optics becoming bright, looked down at the exhausted mech, he was so out of it he hadn’t even registered what the healer had just said over him. Frag, this was bad.

Not knowing what else to do, she nodded slowly, “But how?”

“Get on the berth behind Rift Ring. This is something Seekers do all the time. Due to large litters, seekers generally try to birth as quickly as possible to ignore what’s happening right now. The carrier just becomes so exhausted, he can barely push anymore.  So the mate or a trine member will help them sit up and then push against their belly,” said Restart simply, Sonic Trip putting on a confused expression.

“B-but I have to push on his belly? Won’t that hurt him? He himself stopped touching it not even two groons into the birthing,” said, looking worriedly down at the other.

“Yes, but it needs to be done. The pain will jolt him out of the stupor and the added pressure will force what fluids that are behind the sparkling to help push him or her out,” the healer stated calmly as he wiped his brow with his wrist, ignoring getting the fluid on his hands onto his face. “It’s either now or never.”

Frowning, knowing all too well that time was limited, she quickly crawled onto the berth. Meekly she placed Sentinel’s lulling head on her chassis, and then she leaned forward and placed her large hands on the other’s belly. Then, even as the other started to moan, she pushed down … Sentinel jolting up and screaming as fluid started to rush out of his valve.

And then, just as quickly as she started to press on that belly, it seemed to be over. Sentinel giving one more long wail before there was a squelching noise, one small weeping squeal filling the room as Sentinel collapsed against the large frame, his optics nearly offline as he gasped for air.

It was done.

Restart, meanwhile, was whispering to Inquis as they clipped the tether that was supporting the sparkling, the healer taking the sparkling away to a small table to look over the newborn. Even Sonic Trip knew something was wrong. Sparklings were supposed to be wailing during their first moments into the world to clear their vents, but this one … he or she was so quiet. Was there something wrong with it? Was it not strong enough or had it been damaged in the fall. She had just started to warm Rift Ring up to the idea of keeping the sparkling and now … he was going to lose it.

No, Primus, that would be too cruel. Just too … cruel. Restart had to do something!

“Let me see it … let me see it,” came a choked, raspy voice, a blue hand with wrapped fingers reaching outward towards his sparkling on the small exam table. “Please, I want to see it. Please. I don’t care if it is offline … _I need to_.”

Restart, turning his head and giving the barer a broken look (the readings he had gotten already telling him a bitter tale), sighed and slowly brought the limp sparkling to the Carrier, murmuring, “Rift Ring … something’s wrong. I need to take him-”

“Him?” choked Sentinel, hand still outstretched. “It’s a mech. Please … please just let me see him before he turns grey.”

Restart, optics going dim, frowned and wanted to deny the mech, he didn’t need to see that. And yet, barers just knew sometimes … sometimes they just knew something was wrong with it.  There was no point in denying Rift Ring a few moments, for that might be all the sparkling had. Slowly, coming forward with a fluid covered sparkling, he gave the barely moving form to those shaking blue servos. He knew that he should be trying to save it, but it was likely a weak spark which he could do little for. Not that he should be surprised. A raped mech or femme usually did not bond with anyone after a rape and thus the spark was never engorged with more energy for the sparklet. Just looking at the sparkling, he knew that was likely what was wrong. Even if it did survive, it would probably always have a weak spark.

Perhaps it was best to allow it to offline in its carrier’s arms.

Sentinel, hands shaking, did not notice the healer’s pitying glances, he merely saw the most beautiful thing in the world. This had come out of him. This was a part of his spark. It was almost the same deep blue as him … but it definitely leaned more towards Optimus’ frame type than his, but it had his antenna and just the softest touches of sparkling silver like Optimus. But mostly he saw himself in the small creature. He could tell it was his … and it was dying. He could already see the tips of its tiny (oh so very tiny) digits turning grey. Why did the things he love turn on him … or leave him all together?

Why take away something he had finally accepted?

Sobbing in his throat for a moment, Sentinel pulled the limp form close with his shaky hands and hugged it. Tears streaming down his face again, Sentinel whispered to the little limp mech in his arms, “I’m so sorry … I would have kept you … I would have loved you… I’m so sorry. Please don’t go.”

Then, his head leaned forward just enough to kiss his little copy on the forehead and just as his lips slowly pulled away from his little creation, a coughing noise echoed from the sparkling as it choked up fluids, a cry of life _echoing_ over the room. This little spark had decided to stay… to stay for him.

Sentinel, so relieve, cried with it, refusing to let the sparkling go in fear that someone would take it away from him. This was his … this was his one and only thing in all the universe that he could love and would in turn love him. His little Echo.

…

Meanwhile, on a metal planet far from the recharging pair, a young Prime sat up with a start in the dark, his spark shaking in his casing with some unknown horror. His golden spark was basically bashing against its casing. It was just wailing inside his chassis like it had missed something important, like it was supposed to be somewhere!

Sitting there, panting, Optimus ground his denta together as his vents panted. He had no idea where he was supposed to be. He didn’t know!

Offlining his optics, coolant gathering in his optics, Optimus slammed his fist against his berth, begging his spark as he placed a hand over it, “Please … Please stop torturing me. Tell me what I’m doing wrong?! Just tell me why you ache so!”

But, as usual his golden spark merely pumped painfully in his chassis, no answers offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sonic Trip and I could just image how much larger she would be compared to Sentinel or even Optimus. Also, finally, we get to see the little mech. And yes, I’ve planned on it being a mech from the very beginning of the story. Regardless, the next chapter is probably going to be the time skip chapter and then we will start the next story arch. Later and I hope everyone had a nice Easter break!


	22. A Skip and a Jump

In the end, Sentinel had to make a choice which, he was hard set to admit at this point, was becoming an upsetting norm in his life. He had made a lot of hard choices in less than a vorn. And now there was another one.

Trimmer was only able to lie so much before Rodimus became suspicious and started heading back to Docker City. Apparently, Trimmer was a horrible liar, which in some ways was hilarious. And so, at that point, Sentinel knew he had to either run and hide at another far off colony in the middle of nowhere and end up wearing a dress as was customary in some backwater places … or go back home. He would be honest with himself, since Echo had entered his life, he had come to know that home was wherever Echo was.

True, he liked Docker City despite all the oddities that laid with in it and culture clashes, yet when some trinket of news would come to part about Cybertron, his spark would ache. It was as if his spark wouldn’t leave that place behind, that it wanted something desperately there. Sentinel, even when he sat up at night with Echo feeding off one of his low grade lines, couldn’t quite understand what it was that he missed, but in the end he could only deduct it was his occupation. He was a career soldier and he loved Cybertron.

Plus, his pride was still there and it didn’t want to run away, especially not from _Rodimus Prime_. Though mostly it was because he knew that once he started running he would never be able to stop. And that was no life for Echo. He wanted the sparkling to have all the options in the world open to him, not a fake name every vorn until he forgot what his real name was.

And being arrested would be a nuisance as well.

And so, Sonic Trip at his side along with most of the science crew along with some strings pulled by Trimmer and Restart, a ploy was started so that Sentinel … could have _both_. Trimmer may or may not have used it as an excuse to get Sonic Trip in as a off planet student to the Autobot Academy as well, but Sentinel honestly didn't care. He just wanted this process to go as smoothly as possible … and to keep Echo hidden. Echo would never be a soldier. He would never be a soldier or a tool or … a disgrace.

He would never be used the way Sentinel had been.

And so, with a soft sob he had allowed Sonic Trip to have his Echo and his flat's keycode while he made the eventful meeting with Team Athenia. Restart had not exactly wanted to lie about a medical report, so he allowed Sentinel to tell the tale. For some reason Red Alert didn't seem convinced by Sentinel’s story, but he didn't care. It was Magnus an the other's that had to believe it.

His tale of woe was the closest one to the truth that he could manage … and so he had to confess some things he would have rather not . None of the mechs of Team Athenia had been able to meet his gaze (except for Red Alert who still didn’t seem convinced) after he said that he now knew that he would never be Magnus and that he needed closure. The only way for him to do that was to make sure that he said all his goodbyes before starting his new chapter. He needed to say goodbye to Elita-1: the love of his life.

There had been few questions after that, Rodimus unable to keep his optics from gazing at the weld marks in Sentinel's form or the partially crafted legs. He knew that they all thought he had been attacked and though the old part of him would have loved to have made up a tale of battle and imprisonment, he instead settled for half truths. The ground had collapsed in on him and the science team had dragged his nearly offline body back to the ship to try and save him. They merely thought he was a Neutral so they never contacted anyone and put him under due to his mangled state to keep him stable. He had been unconscious the whole time … and did not know anyone was looking for him.

And luckily … Rodimus had bought it and wrote up a report for Sentinel, the ex-Prime's scarred body and hospitalization proof enough for the higher ranking soldier. Little would Sentinel know that when said report on Sentinel’s absence came upon Optimus’ desk, how much the other mech would blame himself for never telling Sentinel that Elita was not offline … merely misshapen.

Regardless, Sentinel almost couldn’t believe how well the whole mess was cleaning itself up. He came back home, pitied and babied for his scarred and barely functioning legs at the time. The Magnus himself had come to see him in his hospital room to make sure his repairs were coming along nicely. Sentinel had been cordial to the mech he had once looked up to, he had even forced himself to thank Optimus for looking for him.

Though he pretended to miss how the other lingered, wanting to say more no doubt.

After a few mega-cycles, his legs working much better, Sentinel had only wanted to go home where he knew Sonic Trip was taking care of his sparkling and hold the sparkling close. After all, Echo couldn't be too far from him for long without his weak spark becoming unbalanced. He was entirely dependent on Sentinel's spark to keep it strong. A second parent would fix some of the problem, or so Restart said, but Sentinel had not significant other and now had no want for one. He was entirely alone in this world with nothing but a sick sparkling, a mind full of secrets and some half-breed mechs as his only friends in all the universe. Too bad they were all so far away, Sonic Trip being trapped in training camps half the time.

And that was how time passed. Mech's slowly forgot about Sentinel’s _accident_ as he dived into his work and pulled Communications back together, spoiling Cliffjumper for the first vorn to get on the mech's good side … though as time passed he wasn't sure Cliffjumper had a good side. He would admit to one thing though, he was glad he got stuck in the position he was. Once he started to put the department back together, he once again became invisible and could go home whenever need be to raise his pride and joy.

His Echo.

...

As the first vorn passed, Sentinel could not remember ever being as happy or proud. It was apparent that Echo was very intelligent. Part of Sentinel's mind told him it could have had something to do with a certain _donation_ he had volunteered to be unconscious for or perhaps it had to do with the sparkling's weak body. The now-youngling's weak spark had forced Echo to be berth ridden for nearly the first half a vorn of his life even after his first upgrade ( courtesy of Restart), Echo's books and the visits from the training Sonic Trip were his only companions besides his Carrier. Of course that branched out with tutors and private babysitters and … private doctors, but it was a good life.

Even with all its struggles.

Sentinel touched his chest as an ache ran through it, a hand placing itself upon Cliffjumper's desk as he steadied himself, his spark twisting in pain. It seemed that he needed another appointment sooner than he thought with said _private doctor_ … thought mangler seemed a far more fitting term.

Cliffjumper, who had been rambling on about how reviews of the department’s newest underlings Bluestreak and Smokescreen, stalled and frowned deeply as he watched his superior lean on his desk for a moment, vents panting, the other obviously in pain.

Only once he was sure Sentinel's attack or whatever it was had passed, did he speak, “They are getting worse Sentinel. Its probably something from your fall. You barely even allowed yourself to be hospitalized for half a groon. Everyone said it was too soon for you to be up and working, but you said you wanted to go home and then get to work. Even the Magnus thought you came to work too soon.”

Sentinel, vents still panting, was personally just glad he hadn't cried out because that had certainly been a bad one. Perhaps it had been too soon, even he knew that, but then he recalled all to well why he had gotten out early and just shook his head at the other. He had ignored his healing for Echo, because now that a bond had formed, he knew whenever the other was weak and in need of him … or whenever the other's spark started to waver. It would actually cause him physical pain, both as a creator knowing his creation was suffering and because his spark knew … he was prepared to cut another piece out of it to save his creation.

Gathering enough strength to recollect himself, Sentinel shook his head as he murmured to the other, “Probably, but I will be fine. Now, you were saying?”

Cliffjumper eyed the other critically, lips pursed before he ignored the inquiry, “What part of _they are getting worse_ don't you understand? I don't need to go through training another security head.”

“Oh, you trained me, huh?” joked Sentinel slightly, “But really I'm fine. I have an appointment today anyway. That is why I want this done. I have to leave early today.”

Frowning, far from convinced, Cliffjumper's digits fell over his digital keyboard again as he started typing on the report, his words embittered, “A private doctor? You should go to one of the military assigned medics. For one, it would be discounted if not free, and they might actually see what's wrong with you … Those half breeds obviously didn't put you together right.”

Cliffjumper nearly jumped out of his armor when Sentinel slapped his fist down onto the other's desk, Sentinel's optics bright with rage. There was a moment of stillness, Sentinel Minor a few moment from exploding in fury before the red mech quickly looked down and murmured, “I'm sorry … I didn't mean that. They put you back together … took care of you without even having to be asked. They weren't even medics yet they kept you alive … I forgot you even had a few as friends.”

Watching the other's hand curl and uncurl in calming rage, the red mech couldn't help but sigh and grumble, “If your private medic doesn't fix it this time … I know a few good Autobot medics. Would you _please_ at least considered trying one of them?”

Sentinel slowly released his anger, his optics dimming. He wanted to say yes to the other. He wanted to feel energized and youthful like he did before having Echo. He was tired of being tired and tired of worrying constantly about the health of his spark and Echo's spark. He was just tired of keeping up appearances and always having to go to a private medic with all the private bills. But he knew that it was just a fact of life at this point. As Echo grew older, the less dependent he would be on Sentinel's spark, but that wouldn't be for vorns. He just had to deal with the pain.

Sighing, trying to tell himself that it wouldn't hurt as much this time, that his spark wouldn't ache for mega-cycles after wards, he gave Cliffjumper a weak smile knowing that his happiness, his Echo, would always be worth a little inconvenience, a little pain, “Thank you for you concern, soldier, but I will be fine .. I'm always fine.”

And yet, as he left the office, he couldn't help but feel a heavy guilt in his tank. As if he had just _lied_ to the other.

Optimus, his office above the main entrance to the strong hold, watched the blue form of Sentinel transform and drive off. It was kind of a norm at this point, the other was always leaving early and working half day. But he got his work done, so no one ever questioned it. Honestly, Optimus Prime had no idea how he even noticed the other's erratic schedule to begin with, but he personally blamed the _dreams_ with their forming obsession about the other. 

“Isn't it strange how often he goes home early or does his work from home. Its like he'd rather be there … why do you think that is, Ratchet?” said Optimus as he watched Sentinel's blue form disappear around a corner, watching for a nano-click before he turned back to his desk and to the healthier looking medic. Despite looking shiner than ever though for his students and standing, Ratchet still wouldn't get that chevron fixed. He said it was a bad to forget.

“I don't know. Slaggers probably just lazy,” said Ratchet, having watched the blue ex-Prime just as carefully as Optimus this past vorn, wondering if he would ever be able to confront the other about what had happened that night in the subways, though at this point he was just worried the young mech was sick; there was just something sluggish and tired about him as if he was carrying a heavy weight, “But we have bigger issues than your crush on Sentinel.”

Optimus choked, his cheeks blushing, “I-I-uh don't have a crush on Sentinel.”

“You've admitted it yourself that you dream about fragging him at least every orn now, Optimus. It's _something_ and instead of wondering by the Communications Department and unable to stop in, perhaps you should just talk to him. Sentinel's done a lot of growing up since his accident. He's not as loud or brash or flashy. He's far more reserved,” _likely traumatized or he hit is helm to hard in that fall of his_ , “and perhaps … he might not be as picky as he once was.”

Sighing, knowing that he had other things to talk about but was far to frustrated to just cut the conversation off, the Prime collapsed into his chair, grumbling, “But he's always been a femme kind of mech and _I took his job_. I'm lucky he doesn't glare at me every time we pass in the halls. Instead, he just snubs off my existence. Lately, he doesn't even do that. It's as if he has more important things to do than ignore my existence.”

Shifting his shoulders as he accepted a cube of fine high grade from the decorated Prime, Ratchet personally considered that a good sign. It meant the ex-Prime was getting on with his life and that maybe what happened in that subway wasn't as bad as he thought it was. He never had any real proof after all.

“Well, perhaps its a sign. Maybe he's getting on with his life … and so should you. If you don't want to ask him, there have been many a good looking mechs and femmes that have expressed interest in you. And you still have no proof that damaged bond ever existed to Sentinel. It could have easily been Prowl.”

Frowning, looking at his drink with a sullen expression, Optimus carefully murmured, “It could have been … but … have you been by to see him. I know that Jazz goes and sees him all the time, but has anything changed?”

Shaking his head, sighing out of his vents, the old war veteran murmured, “Nope, he's still in status lock. We can only hope that one of these mega-cycle he will pull himself out of it, but gathering the Allspark back together was hard on him. We only have to thank Jazz's early departure from Cybertron, with the jet twins, that he's even still alive. Those three helped gather more shards. If Jazz had had to collect more than he had … its something I would rather not dwell on. But since we are speaking of Earth … you know we can't put it off any longer Optimus. The Sari issue that is.”

Optimus actually physically twitched at this. The subject painful for him.

“Professor Sumdac can't hold out much longer. He may have been a genius, may have been able to make a fake body to hold on as long as he has … but his brain is still organic …”

Optimus frowned at this. Personally, he hated this conversation for it reminded him how many humans he once knew were now offline and how short lived they were, but he owed it to Sumdac and Sari to try and do something for the situation. For them he would bare any burden.

“He called me again. He _begged_ me again Optimus to come to Earth and take her. He knows he is slipping, that he can't be there forever,and though she may technically be around a hundred human years old she still acts like a mid-grade youngling,” finished Ratchet, his next words hard. “You and I both know why he's calling us there Optimus because he know and we know, when he's gone … she will need someone to look after her.”

Shifting uncomfortably Optimus' optics dimmed and he almost whispered, “She won't want to come home with us Ratchet. The scientist would prod at her as if she was a freak and the citizens would ignore her as if she was a freak. Even though she can blend in a little more, she still partially organic. Mechs will notice. Besides, even after her Creator's … um, father's … body failed him, she didn't want to leave. What makes you think she will leave now with her father … so close to the end?”

Shaking his head, Ratchet merely murmured, “I don't think she'll have a choice Optimus and when that time comes someone will have to claim responsibility for her. It best be us instead of someone that would abuse her … gifts.”

“Yeah … _gifts_. If that's what you want to call them.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the turn I'm sure most of you were expecting, but I do hope I'm not completely obvious. As for what is wrong with Sentinel's health, you'll have to wait, and as for Prowl, I never said he died in the story. I honestly left it open because I didn't know what I wanted for him. So there, he's kind of alive. As for Sari, I’ve always had plans of her and Echo interacting. So know we get to start on her tale. Lets just say that the key did more to Sari than give her a little upgrade and it really has a lot to do with the false Elita-1. Sorry if there are more spelling errors than usual, I'm trying OpenOffice Writer. We'll see if it is any good. 
> 
> Anyway, back to MineCraft!


	23. Suffering of the Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

“Wonderful, wonderful. You obviously did all of your homework, didn't you, Echo?” said an aging mech as he sat next to a tiny blue form, small blue legs kicking out from under the large metal table.

"Thank you, Professor Codebreaker. Creator tells me that I have to study hard and then I can go to a university anywhere in the universe and be … what he couldn't,” said Echo as he bit his metallic lip in concentration as he did his practice exorcises on his digi-pad.

Codebreaker nodded softly, having heard this a thousand times from the youngling. Not that he was surprised. True, part of him wasn't really surprised that that was the lesson the dishonored Prime had taught his youngling, but at the same time it bothered him. Echo was bright, incredibly so for a vorn and a half. He always said it was because he stayed with his uncles Skyfire and Aquila whenever his creator could get some time off. Echo stated that Sentinel always grumbled that Skyfire and Aquila donated too many smarts. Codebreaker was sure it was some kind of joke he didn't get the punchline to, but he did know that Echo belonged in a Autobot funded school, being noticed by mechs like Brainwave or Tech-Up or even the famed Perceptor or Wheeljack. Not a retried professor who lived up the stairs, injured in the great war when war secrets were forcefully pulled out of his HUB. He still froze up from time to time when stressed.

He was even sure, as a mech that had once been Ultra, Sentinel should have been able to at least get one of those great mechs to be a mentor, yet here was this bright, intelligent mind under his tutelage. It was almost a shame … if he didn't enjoy the lessons so much. To this bright little mech, Codebreaker was not glitched or broken … he was his door to the universe.

Suddenly, his thoughts deep, Codebreaker noticed that the youth's work had stalled and like so many times before … he watched as the youth whimpered and placed his small hands on his chest, his vents hiccuping.

Sighing, knowing already what to do, the mech rose to his feet and went to the mechling's bag. He picked out a small cube of light energon which he knew was already premixed with Echo's medicine. There was even an extra one in the bag, just in case and that made the aging mech sigh. Sentinel knew it was going to be bad today and yet the youngling was sent over. Regardless, he handed the cube to the youngling and watched him down those almost too-strong pain killer nanites. He couldn't help but pity Sentinel though because he knew that today there was a medical appointment and tomorrow Sentinel would be the one in pain, almost unable to stand as pain hammered through his form.

And yet he would rise for the day, prepare Echo's medical cubes and walk him up to Codebreaker's room and then, if he couldn't get the day off, would painfully and slowly transform and go to work. He wasn't exactly sure what was wrong with Echo, but he did know that Sentinel would accept the painful blunt of the disease over and over again.

He was a good creator.

A little over a vorn and a half ago, he wouldn't have thought that of the temporary Magnus, but love can change even the most questionable of sparks.

“Thank you teacher,” murmured the little bookworm as he handed his empty cube to the elder medic. “I should be fine now.”

“Well, it won't hurt to take a break,” said Codebreaker kindly as he placed the empty cube into a recycle bin. “Your creator should be here soon.”

And yet, before he could even head into the living room to watch the holo-vision with the youth as they did every day for mid-afternoon break, there was a ring for the front door. Codebreaker stalled and turned to the door. He knew who was there and Echo new it as well, the youth hopping off the couch and running to his backpack, packing his digi-learning pads quickly.

Codebreaker instead headed to the door to have the conversation he always seemed to have when it came to Sentinel Minor: reminding the once-Ultra that he was mortal.

Opening the door, the white and yellow mech smiled kindly, “Ah Sentinel, perfect timing as usual. We were about to have a mid-afternoon break. Perhaps you would sit with us for a moment, have some low grade. You look a bit faded.”

Sentinel frowned. He knew he looked terrible, but he had long since learned it was best to go hungry before a procedure because any energon he would consume that day seemed to end up on the floor, his tanks emptying themselves. Soon, he learned it was best to have as empty a tank. The less Echo saw him suffer … the better.

Shaking his head, hand offered out to his sparkling, Sentinel gripped his creation's small hand, murmuring softly, “It would be a waste.”

If Codebreaker understood, he said nothing, and that was part of the reason Sentinel liked the mech. His world had become a one of secrets and he quickly learned to value a mech that could keep his mouth shut because he would give all his world for Echo … even his spark.

…

Breakdown was a butcher … though he was a professional butcher and he was discrete. Then again, Sentinel was more than sure that if he dug into the others identity he was sure he would find that the mech had once had _unacceptable_ company.

It was part of the reason he went out of his way to go to the mech. It was because they both knew the other could ruin the other and thus would keep each others secrets. He honestly didn't know much about Breakdown, except that he lost an optic in the war and yet he had never bothered to replace it. Instead, he had a patch, and Echo was not shy about asking where he got it from. And though most people would think that would piss off a mech of Breakdown's caliber, it actually won him over. He would offer rare smiles to the youngling. Not that that made Sentinel feel any better.

Meetings with Breakdown always meant pain and lots of awkwardness.

“Ah, Sentinel Minor. I was wondering when you were showing up. A little later than usual, which for any other mech or femme I would not be surprised, but for you. Its odd,” said Breakdown as he placed his medical tools onto his medical tray, stalling for a moment as he looked at a laser scalpel, a name echoing in his head as he looked at it.

Offlinging his optics, he searched a part in his spark for a little bit of comfort, and then turned to give Sentinel all of his attention.

As usual Sentinel looked like he was barely able to restrain himself from running away and yet was able to stand still long enough that Echo barely noticed. The youngling, as usual, was in a good mood because soon he would be feeling better and the child really did have too much of a liking for medical tools.

“Yeah,” said Echo as he grinned up at the private healer he had come to know. “Codebreaker wouldn't allow us to leave until creator had something in his tank.”

“Ah, understandable,” murmured the mech as he looked at Sentinel's dull coloring. The ex-Prime was obviously low on energon. “You should try to be energized for these procedures, Sentinel Minor. You know that.”

Sentinel, lip twitching, tried not to growl at the other as he murmured, “I think we both know why I don't intake before a procedure.”

Breakdown hummed for a moment, before he answered back, “Well, that could have something to do with wanting to go straight home after a procedure. I'd rather have you rest for a mega-cycle or two before you went home, but I think we both know you wont.”

There was a brief glaring contest between the two mechs, Breakdown gave up and shook his head, murmuring, “There's no helping you, you stubborn glitch. Now get on the table. We'll … extract the donation now that way while I'm working on Echo, you can rest.”

Sentinel tried not to twitch at the word _donation_. The way the private healer was speaking, it sounded like it would be quick and painless. Something that would cause minor discomfort. The truth was that the private physician was _cutting away_ a piece of his spark, chipping away a piece of his soul and then transplanting it into his creation to stabilize his spark. Sentinel was an adult spark, he could survive pieces being chipped away.

For how long … he didn't know.

Though Breakdown seemed to have an idea.

“Well?” said the medic forcefully as he stood over Sentinel a few cycles later, Echo reading in a separate room as lights glared down on Sentinel as he laid there on the berth, being prepped. “Have you found anyone recently? Someone that you are interested in? Someone with shared likes?”

Sentinel remained silent, making this extremely irritating for the healer as he prepped his tools.

Sighing, getting far to use to this, he asked bluntly, “Okay, someone with a nice aft? Someone you want to frag really badly? Someone you pushed against a wall and took advantage of? A whore that you took a fancy to? Come on Sentinel, you know the routine. I need to know if you've shared your spark with someone … like I have been encouraging you to since you knocked on my door and asked me to start chopping your spark up.”

Sentinel sighed, placing a hand over his optics, murmuring, “I don't want to talk about it.”

Frowning deeply, his yellow optic glinting slightly in irritation, he grumbled, “You mean there is nothing to talk about?”

Sighing through his vents, Sentinel found no point in lying. “Yes ... there is nothing to talk about. Can we just get to the part where you mangle my spark and cause me large amounts of stress?”

Titling the overhead light above the blue mech, Breakdown grunted and sat down on a nearby stool, the older mech pinching his nose bridge before he rumbled, “Do we have to have this discussion again? Do I have to remind you that you can't do this forever, Sentinel. Especially not at the rate that we are cutting pieces away. Your spark will mend itself in time, but not fast enough.”

“Please don't … aren't I going to suffer enough in a few moments? I don't need a chastising with it as well,” said Sentinel moodily, bringing forward a tone he rarely used since his days before Echo. “There is no one. _I want no one._ The femme I loved is gone and any thoughts of gaining a mech's attention …”

Sentinel choked at his, unable to say another word. It honestly was like an unspoken agreement between the two of them that Sentinel never had to mention the night of Echo's creation and in turn Breakdown didn't have to say who he was waiting for in the stockades (for why else would he be waiting in this miserable place). They both knew it was not mutual and that was all Sentinel felt had to be said of his sparkling's sire and that the mech wasn't in the picture... Well, as little as possible, honestly. Sentinel had long since called it a learned skill: his ability to ignore Optimus Prime when they were in the same room … as long as they were not alone in the same room that is.

Not everyone was given justice, especially when no crime was reported. 

“Well,” said Breakdown, his tone careful as he watched Sentinel push back an emotional breakdown. “Perhaps you should search out femmes if mechs don't strike up your fancy. How about that large femme, Sonic Trip? You always speak of her fondly. Or how about that cute little sparkling-sitter you get from time to time for Echo, Low Tones isn't it? There's even that medic that you have mentioned, Red Alert is it?”

Sentinel snorted at this, cynical as ever.

“Touching Sonic Trip in that manner would be like touching a sister, Low Tones is but a child in many ways and 'd feel like I'm taking advantage of her, and Red Alert has been after me since her and her Prime picked me up in Docker City. She knows something happened and she won't let it rest until I'm completely ruined. I don't know what her problem is but I ignore her as much as a ignored Optim-” Sentinel tried to stall himself from saying the last word and yet it seemed hardly worth the effort.

“Optimus Prime, you mean? You've mentioned him a few times. Why not frag him since he always seems to be on your mind? Any options are better then no options at all, Sentinel. And if not him, their are plenty of nice family mechs out there,” said Breakdown, trying to be helpful.

“You know how it is. You are a medic. After carrying, mechs see you as always being the recessive one in a relationship. I couldn't … _emotionally_ … handle another mech dominating me. I … it just won't work. _But, by all means, if you really think I should get laid, get me drunk and go at it,_ ” grumbled Sentinel, the last part obviously sarcastic.

The medic, in turn, merely placed a magnification device over his good optic and chuckled, “One of these times I'm going to take you up on that if you keep saying it, but until the day when we are both desperate enough to sink to each others level, I'll settle for mangling and berating you about your lack of a sex life.”

Sentinel, despite himself, softly smiled at the other. Sometimes, because of the pain, he forgot why he went to Breakdown besides the obvious reasons. He knew he had changed a lot in the last vorn and a half with the birth of Echo, and when he spoke with Breakdown he felt a sense of deja vu. This mech before him had had a hard life and lost a love, forced into a life he didn't exactly want. Yet, he stayed, for loves sake and its sake alone. Sentinel didn't know who Breakdown was waiting for, but whoever it was …. they didn't deserve him.

“Alright, lets pop that chassy. Time for the fun part,” mocked the medic, the two having done this so many times they Sentinel no longer blushed. Before anything could be gathered, the spark had to become excited first and Breakdown, surprisingly, had very good hands. Then again, at this point, he knew Sentinel’s spark very well and knew just what to do.

Sentinel, seeing no point in holding this off any longer, offlined his optics and with a grunt released the mechanism holding his chassis closed, a blue light washing over the private medic. This had to be the worst part, though he never told the medic as much, especially if he dared watch what happened next. In the blue light of his spark, he would sometimes see Optimus above him, staring down at this spark with a hungry expression. Though a part of his mind knew it was a critical stare on Breakdown's part, another part expected Breakdown to suddenly pin him down and have his way with him, like what happened the last time a mech stared down at his spark.

And yet, stiff as a board, the exam followed the same procedure as usual. Breakdown would always be very professional, telling him everything he was going to do before he did it, hands ghosting over his sour spark, exciting it with soft touches. It wasn't meant to be sexual in any manner, but it had to be done. It was the easiest and least destructive way to separate a small tendril of energy from the spark. Sentinel could already feel it coming, his hands twitching as his spark grew more and more excited, practiced hands petting his spark's casing while drawing him nearer and nearer to a moment of bliss. His vents were even panting as Breakdown's fingers knowingly ran across seams.

Besides himself, Sentinel whimpered, his fingers digging into the berth. Breakdown, thankfully, made no comment to the aroused reactions. This was a normal reaction of a healthy mech. If anything, it was odd that Sentinel thought it was odd for him to be aroused.

Breakdown, knowing the other far to well for only a vorns time, decided to end this quickly, fingers lithe as ever. Sentinel's spark overloaded with a jot of dancing blue which caused the blue Autobot to gasp and wither in bliss. Breakdown, secretly, would never admit that it was very erotic to see the blue Autobot release for a moment in elation. There was just something about that stout, cold and control-freak mech breaking down that was utterly erotic. Maybe it was just that hint of cocky character that so reminded him of the one he waited for. The one he pretended to be an Autobot for.

Finally, reaching for his laser scalpel, tendrils of electricity still clinging to his digits like crawling blue vines, Breakdown found that he did not want to watch the blue Minor collapse against the berth in elation before his withering spark was cut into. Perhaps if he cut into the spark while it was still elated like this, it would hurt less for the other. Deciding to test the theory, he turned on his laser scalpel with a dull pink glow and grasped a small tendril of living electricity,

He cut in just as the spark gave off a few more blissful beats, Sentinel's wails coming out between something like a sob and a groan as the mech passed out.

The whole time, Breakdown tried to ignore the odd shadow in the corner. The shadow that only seemed to be there whenever Sentinel came in for his services … the shadow that secretly gave him nightmares during his darkest of nights, only to be forgotten the moment he onlined his optics. It was as if it was waiting for him to mess up, to cut too deep, to falter when implanting the donation into Echo's weak spark. It was a shadow that was waiting to take the lives of these two patients.

Breakdown, though he did not believe in such things, promised he would not give it the one thing it desired.

A small shard of blue energy in his hand, he finally dared glared in the direction of the shadow and for the briefest of moments he watched Knock Out give him a wicked grin, his love twisted and broken looking. And yet, as soon as he had seen it, it was gone.

And yet the deed was done, the electric pulse he had been sending through his hand had faltered and the electric living piece of energy had faded away like dust to the wind, a faint glitter in the air and then it was nothing.

Cursing, looking back to see there was nothing really there, he looked back down at his passed out patient. He needed a sample. He needed a tendril to keep Echo alive. Sentinel was in less than satisfactory shape, but his spark was still much stronger than Echo's. Echo could die without a donation if he didn't get one within a groon.

Sentinel would be fine. Sentinel … Sentinel would be willing to suffer.

And so, throwing a glare to where the shadow had been, wondering how soon he could start a virus scan in the evening, he coerce another tendril of the blue spark around his finger and cut out a second piece without another thought.

Watching Sentinel's spark wither in pain, he prayed that he hadn't taken to much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet a lot of you are wondering where this story is going. Well, in all honesty, I am just leaning a little more into Unicrons shadow and the figures involved there. Basically, there will be a lot of secrets revealed, and not all of them are Sentinels. Plus, I like to keep a well round story with a lot of characters and how their lives intertwine with each other. Sari's will get her own chapter next.   
> Also, I updated if only in spite of a recent flammer on FFnet. XD


	24. Never Changing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

In her dreams there was laughter and a shifting shadow that crawled on the wall like a spider. It was cold and cruel laughter that she had heard many times over the last vorn and it always caused her to wake in a cold sweat. She hated that shadow, hated how it seemed to always be wearing a new skin that it dug from a grave, but mostly she hated it because it wanted  _him_ dead.

She did not know _his_ name or where he was or even who he was, but her mind always imagined him as a small frail star, twirling around a large blue giant star. And how that blue star suffered and suffered to keep that little golden orb alive … especially since the darkness was after that little star, trying to snuff it out.

And so the darkness closed in.

Sari, the darkness blocking out the light, was ripped from her sleep and for a moment she sat there, panting in her bed. She sat there as a sweat and coolant mix dripped down her skin as she panted. It took her a moment to focus, to remember where she was, safe in her bed. And yet her chest felt tight, her spark pounding away, whispering up to her that she had to do something, to say something, that her light would have a say in the manner. And yet, she merely pulled her knees into her chest and wished the vision away.

Yes, it was a vision. What else could it be. Ever since she had had her upgrade, things like this had started to happen to her, to haunt her. She hated these dreams and she would dully admit that they were half the reason she was still here, in this tower, forcing her father to hold on. The dreams bid her to bigger fates and she knew the moment she started listening to them … it was the moment she started to stop being human … and then her father would finally fade, a man of nearly two hundred years old. Though most people had stopped calling him a man long ago.

Her eyes glowing eerily in the dark at the thought, a glowing tear dripping slowly down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, having no want to see a sample of what she was becoming inside.

Suddenly, if only to bid her from the sour aftertaste of her dreams, there was a bing at her bedside, a face floating over the newest version of a cell phone. To some the floating head would look like a transfixing mix of faded old flesh and plastic, but to her it was her father, Issac Sumdac. Time had warped him in his struggle to stay alive, to stay alive and care for his little girl that had barely aged past the look of a young teenager. The man was now more metallic and plastic than he was flesh, a marvel of science some would call it. Others called the man an abomination despite how his finds had helped in the creation of automated limbs and plastic organs. Most people still didn't live past one hundred and thirty and yet here he was. This mix of plastic, metal and a few dying parts of human flesh. Though she had gotten used to his constant upgrades, she also knew that she had prolonged his suffering because his existence was a far from painless one. And yet, she would not see herself just leaving, joining the Autobots in their near agelessness, because she knew the moment she set foot on that planet, something would stir in her. Something more than visions.

“Morning dad. Up early, I see,” she murmured, pulling her barely aged form up to look at the hologram, giving a sad smile. “How are you feeling?”

The old man frowned, the metal ridges that made him mostly cyborg digging into his brow, “Should I be asking you that instead? You seem upset, Sari. It was one of the dreams again? Wasn't it?”

Frowning, looking away from the hologram, the girl rubbed her face and grumbled, “I don't want to talk about it. Its … unimportant stuff.”

Shaking his head, looking tired and grey, the man murmured, “Well, perhaps you can tell Ratchet of it. He will be by today with Optimus Prime.”

The femme, torn between excitement and an odd mix of worry. A part of her knew, along with the dreams, that the Prime's presence had a way of setting things into motion. He found the Allspark and awoke her other half, allowed Earth to know they weren't alone in the universe and basically ended a millennium old war.

Part of her wondered what he would set into motion now.

The feeling in the back of her mind and the skip of her spark told her she might not want to know. True, she had a lot more knowledge than she did in the past since her friends had went back to Cybertron, but her mentality had not changed. She blamed it on her spark, personally. It was still the spark of a youngling in Cybertronian standards and she hated it. She hated being reminded that she was the reason that her father still wanted to play the roll of caretaker when she should have been taking care of him.

In fact, she was sure that if her father was unable to find a way to hang on, he would find someone else to take care of her as if she were still a child.

She now cringed at the thought of Optimus and Ratchet. She loved them, they were unchanging as she was, but they also meant the death of her father. She didn't know when or how, but it was one of the things the dreams had installed in her. And she had no want to see them come to fruition.

“Oh it will be so good to see both of them again. I know that half a vorn is half of a normal year to them, but to me ...” the man cut off, perhaps knowing how sensitive the subject was for a girl that had seemingly never aged. He knew all to well that everyone called her vampire and freak and that some merely thought she was a wined-up toy created by her father. It was part of the reason he didn't allow human staff into the living quarters anymore. And thought he was a bit angry that the Autobots had just gone back home, leaving his little girl behind to stumble in confusion as to what she was, he was glad that unlike most fathers she would always be his little girl. Yes, he knew it was kind of a messed up away to look at it, but then again any parent would love to know that their child was meant for greater things; that they would not struggle for less than a century and then be lost to the dirt. Forgotten and rotting away.

Not that anyone really buried their dead anymore. Cremation was how the world looked at death now. Nothing but ash.

Shaking off the thought, promising himself that he wanted to live passed the day when his little girl could be more than a little girl, but instead a young woman, he decided that today was the day. Optimus and Ratchet were finally coming to Earth, if anything happened to him, he knew that their was someone who still saw his little girl as a little girl and not a freak … and would take care of her.

“Ugh, anyway, I figured since Ratchet was around he could help me with an upgrade that I have been planning on,” piped up the scientist, knowing how much his creation hated being reminded how he extended his life.

“Another upgrade?” said Sorry, her tone worried, knowing all to well how hard those upgrades were on her father. “T-the last one didn't take?”

The man frowned, his features becoming soft as he murmured, “The brain is still made of flesh. It won't last forever, but this one … it should work.”

Sari wanted to fight with her father, deny him this madness and yet she knew he was right. Even though his legs and spine were replaced by treds and his arms mostly robotic, his heart long since plastic, she knew that his mind could not be so easily replaced. If only … if only he had a spark like her or any other transformer. Though a spark did not necessarily keep exact memories, it kept a persons being and soul and the faintest traces of memories that made that mech the person they were.

But her father had no spark, no matter how hard she wished he did.

“Now, don't worry. This time … this time will work.”

Sari, spark hammering in her chest, felt he was far more wrong then either of them could imagine.

...

“Ratchet, Optimus Prime. It is good to see both of you. It feels like it has been a lifetime,” said Issac as his treads ran over the floor of his lab, clicking hauntingly as a man that was mostly metal came over to greet the two mechs. Optimus, for his part, tried to keep his smile warm, shocked at how the man had changed it what would have been very little time to a Cybertronain.

For a moment, Optimus felt nothing but guilt. He had visited Earth a few times as he had promised, but was it too little by human standards.

Ratchet was not surprised, having visited the planet far more often under the pretense of assisting Sari. He had to. The young femme's body was slowly adapting and becoming more and more Cybertronian, but mostly he had come at the femmes beckoning about her father.

And all the times after it had been Sumdac summoning him … asking for someone to take care of his daughter. His time was drawing to a close and yet he still, somehow, held on.

“So,” said Ratchet, watching as Optimus walked over to greet Sari, a friendly reunion for the two. “You don't think it will work this time, do you?”

Professor Sumdac gave the tall mech an upward glance, gears whizzing as they helped lift up his head. He was silent for a moment, his words almost a whisper, “I've lived a long life for a human, Ratchet, but all I want to know is that if this does not work … you will keep your promise to this old man and watch over his daughter.”

Ratchet slowly nodded, always knowing that this day was coming, that this experiment was coming, his own daughter for inspiration.

“Good, an old man needs his comforts,” he whispered as he watched Sari and Optimus turn towards them.

“Now Sari,” said the man in the same professional manner he would to a lab assistant, his daughter long since having started to assist him.

“Dad,” she interrupted. “Is this another bad upgrade, like the spider legs?”

The man chuckled, a dry cough escaping him, “No, no. I've decided that its time to stop holding on to old things and so I made something new … something that can look after you.”

Sari tried not to gasp as a metallic form was revealed, a glass observational room turning on its lights in the corner. The figure gleamed and though it was a differing design, it was obvious what he had used for inspiration: Cybertronians.

“Its time to do away with flesh … and I will become something more. I have been building this body for the last forty years. A body that I can digitally upload my mind to. I believe I now have the equipment to download my mind … all I require to run it now is a spark and someone to help me jump start my new form,” he finished, smiling as well as his features would allow him to.

Sari, for her part, seemed horrified along with Optimus Prime. Ratchet … Ratchet was not surprised. He had given Sumdac plenty of files on Cybertronian forms … though he always lied to himself and said it was only for Sari.

“W-what, you can't do that!” cried Optimus before Sari could even chide her father. “You can't just download your mind and a spark … a spark can't just be made! It is the essence of life. It is … it is our heart!”

Frowning, his words clear and not the least bit bothered by Optimus' rage, the human stated almost coldly, “I have made artificial hearts and lungs and livers and limbs. How different is an electric soul?”

Optimus, mouth agape for a moment, part of him now disgusted more than pitying the aged form. He couldn't help but choke, “Y-you can't make a soul, Sumdac.”

Looking at the mech, offering a metallic hand out to his daughter as if asking her to come nearer, he said simply, “What is a soul really, Optimus, but a spark of life? And life can be easily created. Now come Sari, I need your hand. I need just a spark. A spark from the last build up of the key's energies, from your powers. And then I … can be like you.”

Sari, staring at her father in shock, looked at his hand as if it would burst into flames at any moment. Then, slowly, her head started to shake, part of her finally realizing, to get a new body he would have to do away with an old one. And to do away with an old one, it must die.

“No, no, no. Dad, you are fine as you are. Y-you don't have to do this,” begged his daughter, stepping towards him. “You don't have to do this for me, dad.”

Hand still offered, unyielding, a tone that no child could deny, the scientist murmured, “Of course I must, Sari. A father must give all for his children … even if there is a chance he may not live. Give me your hand Sari.”

And she did, hand shaking, she offered it to the man that had protected and loved her as much as a mortal could. She allowed him to lead her into the room with the still body and to stall before the empty shell, which was not much taller than her surprisingly but quite bulky. It was just silver at the time, simple and rather characterless. She would have liked to ask why, but she knew that when a spark was placed in a unused protoform, it would shape and mold itself to the data that came with the spark.

Despite knowing how dangerous this was, the scientific mind that was slowly being passed on to her from her father, she could only stare in wonderment and dwell on what form the protoform would take if her father was successful.

No, when her father _was_ successful.

“Now, Sari. I know this is scary for you and you love me just the way I am,” said the aged, mostly robotic man as he turned his taller daughter to face him, knowing already what she was going to say. “But I refuse to leave you alone in this world. I know a daughter is supposed to bury her father, but that daughter is supposed to be a young woman with children of her own … she is not still supposed to be a child.”

Sari could feel tears gathering at her eyes. So, they were finally having this conversation. The conversation that would wake her at night, real human tears dripping down her face: I am human and I will die. He had hinted at it many a times, but this was the first time he had taken up her hands and told her the way it was, his next words stinging in her heart.

“But flesh is weak and short lived … I am dying and have been dying for a long time. I've been holding on, but I know I cannot last much longer. So, you might think this is cruel making you watch an old part of me part with no promise this experiment will work, but I have faith and I can think of no crueler thing to do than leaving you alone,” he said softly, his fake eyes whining slightly in an electronic way as he looked her up and down. “Now, we will have no goodbyes. This will work and though I am sure I will still die before you, it will not die here today.”

A small sob threatening to escape her and she raised a hand to wipe away her tears before they dared fall. And yet she was strong, she smiled and hugged her father slightly as she murmured, “I will do my best dad … What do you need me to do?”

Smiling, he opened the chest piece, revealing the black and empty spark chamber, his voice sad and yet hopeful, “To give it the spark of life, with the last bit of energy in the Allspark Key. When my mind is fully uploaded, I need you to place the key against the glass and give it the jolt it needs... Can you do that for me?”

Sari had nodded her head, wiping tears from her face, giving her dad a quick hug as his treads clicked down a nearby ramp, to the Autobots. She tried not to listen, tried to pretend that she did not hear Optimus raise his voice or to hear Ratchet softly warn her father that this would kill him, the amount of electricity required to copy his mind. She tried not to listen to the man make Optimus and Ratchet promise, _promise him_ , that they would take her and treat her like the child she was.

And not some kind of monster.

She was perfect in every way. The way the Allspark wanted her to be.

Yet, when her father allowed Ratchet to hook him up, throwing the switch himself, she found that even the Allspark could not keep her from freezing up when she needed it the most.

She had tried to mind the download of her fathers' mind, to make sure she activated the key at the singular most important moment, but something appeared over her father's body, as smoke was coughed up from the surrounding equipment along with sparks and flames. She could not hear Ratchet yelling, telling her to activate the key or Optimus' pleas to turn off the machine as he tried to put out the flames … she only saw a shadow standing within the smoke, jumping to and fro with the shadows. It was trying to take a shape, trying to take some kind of form be it a yellow femme or a red flamboyant mech or something that looked like a horned metallic beast. She could see that they were all fake and she saw him for what he was: a shadow.

And he was warning her to not even take a step onto Cybertron, but the deed was done … a young girl screaming as she clung to the dead fleshy form of her father.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we finally got to Sari's part. As for Sumdac, things didn't go exactly right, but I wouldn't say they went wrong either. Also, I'm super pissed with FFnet right now. Someone got three of my slash fics deleted last week. It doesn't take much of an imagination to guess who it was over there, but I'm sure glad I have backups over here. Seems I'll have to backup all the stories on this site the way it seems.


	25. Every End is a Beginning

_He hadn't even recognize me._

Sari sat there, her mask dropped and covering her face, making her seem like any average Cybertronian … well, despite, being extremely short. She looked like a sparkling and had been treated as such since she had been brought to Cybertron along with that _thing_ , that shell, which was supposed to be her father.

Or at least what was left of him.

It didn't even recognize any of them. Not even _her_! It just _stared_ seemingly dead except for the flicker of its optics.

She had screamed and yelled at Ratchet when he had checked on that metallic _thing_ and not the flesh and bone form of her father first after Optimus had put all the fires out. She knew he had done the right thing. He had checked on the thing that twitched and moved and breathed and not the lifeless cold thing.

Yet, a part of her loathed Ratchet for it. She still hated that metallic _thing_ even more though, but no matter how angry she was or how hard she cried the last two days, Ratchet surprisingly never got upset. He had spoken softly and rubbed her shoulder kindly and was _oh so ever_ calm and patience. He had even sat with her until she had cried all the tears she could muster and then he had been the one to carry her through the space bridge when the not-father had become stable enough to move.

He had _carried_ her like a child … and she despised him even more for it.

She knew that Ratchet was listening to probably her father's last request and treating her like the child she mentally was. A part of her wanted to shake her head at the thought. She was smart and yet … she had never quite grown up either. She still loved childlike things, refused to eat vegetables, collected stuffed toys and had never gained any interest in boys. Yes, she had grown a few centimeters taller and a little broader in the shoulders since the Autobots left Earth, but she knew not much had change about her. Truthfully, the universe really hadn't changed much in the last forty-eight hours even though her world seemed to be crushed.

And yet, she found herself sitting here, in an oversized chair in the waiting area, or at least the Cybertrionain equivalent of one. Soon after exiting the space bridge, the thing that was supposed to be her father was whisked away to the military hospital. Her Cybertronian, thought fair, was put to the test as Ratchet spoke quickly to the local medics and handed off what was left of her father, the limp thing that was not even twitching.

She had been placed in the waiting room with a piteous looking Optimus. Bumblebee and Bulkhead said they were coming. They had promised to come as quickly as possible, but were spread across the colonies with work, their lives still alive and prosperous … unlike hers. Even Optimus had left her halfway through. He had said the Magnus was calling a big meeting and promised he’d come back as soon as he was able.

And so she was left alone for what felt like a breath’s time and an eternity all the same.

Soon, not-father had been stabilized, a collection of tubes and wires sticking out of him as if one wrong touch would break him. Soon after, a mech came over wanting documentation called Hardline and a femme from a _Youngling Care Center_ or something. Whoever they were, Sari honestly didn't care. She just knew she didn't like the femme who had come out to greet Ratchet, asking her name and how old she was.

She had treated her like a _child_.

Sari had snapped at her for it to, some sarcastic comeback she did not remember word for word. Then again her knowledge of Cybertronian curses was rather weak so she wasn’t sure it came out right at all.

Ratchet had merely frowned at her, but he hadn't acted like his old cantankerous self and instead ignored her outburst and murmured, “She's almost two vorns old, but very well developed. Humans, her surrogate caretakers on Earth, grow and live very short lives, usually a vorn, sometimes longer. Her mind adapted to their pace. She's not used to being treated like the young-bot she is. Please excuse her.”

And the femme, Safe Guard, had frowned at first but then smiled, nodding to Sari and speaking in a far more formal tone, “Sorry about that … Sari? … I'll try to be more understanding.”

Understanding? Understanding about what?! Her father just died and she was whisked away to live on a planet she had only been on once! Why did Ratchet even bring her here? True, he probably told her why she was here. Optimus probably had as well, but she just felt like she was ten again and just couldn't completely comprehend anything when it came to the adult world. _What was wrong with her?_ She was over a hundred years old!

… And yet she didn't feel like it especially in this place.

She didn't know how it was possible, mech and humans were so different, and yet somehow hospitals still had the same smell.

Sari said nothing to the femme at first, her from was cold as she curled back into herself, back into the blanket that Optimus had insisted that she take. It was covered in atoms and test tube beakers and stars. Her father had loved it and at first she had hated it, but she found she loved it as much as him now.

“Yeah, sure, understanding,” grumbled Sari in Cybertronian before she turned to Ratchet and asked softly in English, “Ratchet, can I go home now? I know that d-dad isn’t there _… but what am I even doing here?_ That _thing_ can’t be my dad. He doesn’t recognize me, anyone _. My father’s dead_. I need to go home and bury him and take care of the company and … and whatever else adults are supposed to do.”

She tried to keep the sob out of her throat, but it was there nonetheless and she wished more than anything she could be in her own bed bawling her heart out. Not here. Not in this place surrounded by beings that would likely freak if she lifted her face mask. Instead, she buried her head in her hands, hating her weakness.

Hardline, whom had been typing away at his digi-pad stalled as well as the femme, Safe Guard. They both gave Ratchet a look, their words a half-understood garble by the Halfling.

“What did she say? Did we do something to upset her? Does she even speak Cybertronain?” asked the femme as she stepped forward and sat next to the small femme, her frown highly evident.

Sighing, hating that Optimus had gotten called away on something and that he had to deal with official mechs all alone, something he detested but was becoming frequently more regular since Earth, Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled, “What do you think? She was raised on Earth. We downloaded and spoke the dominate language on Earth, so of course she is going to speak an Earth language. She knows some cybertronain, she probably understood half of what you just said. So don't treat her like a glitched kid, because she isn't.”

Noting Ratchet's irritated flare, the femme sighed and nodded, “I understand, but you still haven't said what she said.”

Grumbling, shifting on his feet while he lifted a gaze back towards Hardline, Ratchet grumbled in a tired tone, “She said … She said she wants to go back to Earth and bury the body of her surrogate caretaker. She then believes she should take up his stead and care for his practice which is normal for human adults.”

For a moment even Hardline's fingers stopped typing, both of the beings looked flabbergast and almost offended, Safe Guard unsurprisingly beating the mech to the punchline.

“She isn't even two vorns _old_. She is a _youngling_. Legally, she cannot even care for herself. Why would you even allow a youngling, a _sparkling_ in almost all accounts, to take care of herself?!” nearly yelled Safe Guard, her tone flustered and almost ground out. She was obviously offended.

Ratchet dimmed his optics, growling, “I never said _yes_ to her request. In fact … her surrogate … understood that as well. He asked for Optimus Prime and I … to take care of her. That's why I asked the two of you here.”

The femme and mech both perked up in a moment, comprehension evident, Hardline asking in a simple almost mechanical tone, “And do you have documentation for this? Her sire's last request? If so, it can be legally binding and she will not be placed even momentarily into the Youngling Care System.”

Nodding slowly, Ratchet offered a wrist to the other, a jack being revealed to the stoic office mech. The mech was quick and efficient, plugging into the jack with his digi-pad, downloading the offered file. He viewed it for a moment, using his systems to check for authenticity. He saw no faults or falsities and the young femme already seemed comfortable with the aging mech, so he looked to Safe Guard and proclaimed, “It seems to be legitimate. In fact, there are multiple recordings throughout the last few orns with the … _organic’s_ … request to take care of Sari. Though it seems that the request is made to both you and Optimus Prime. Are you a bonded couple then and wish to adopt her together?”

Vents coughing, having never thought of the young bot that way, Ratchet quickly stated, “No, no. We are not … I … I will take responsibility for her and the little grey mech, her sibling. Though Optimus did volunteer to be her and her sibling's caretaker if something were to happen to me.”

Nodding, typing away madly, legal documents being arranged through Autobot courts since Ratchet was an active military member and thus reaped all its benefits, “I see, I see. I'll start setting up all those documents for you. I'll even arrange a few orns to form a bond with the young femme and her sibling. But tell me, what is the mech's name. It hasn’t been mention.”

Ratchet frowned as he looked at Sari for a moment. The young femme was still balled up into herself, her back being rubbed by the larger femme. He hadn't yet told Sari about exactly what was happening with her legal status or her 'fathers'. She was a child no matter what she said. He personally agreed with her though that Sumdac’s last creation _was_ and yet _was not_ her father. He wasn't quite sure honestly. Perhaps there was a change and there was none of the scientist still there. Perhaps he had merely offered ignition to a new spark, a new life. Perhaps it was best not to name the creation Sumdac if the name that was not meant for it.

He would not call the creation Sumdac.

And so, trying to think of this as a new beginning if there was even a trace of Sumdac in that silver shell, Ratchet murmured, “His name is Reboot. He … there was an accident in their caretaker's lab that claimed the life of their surrogate. I don't know if … if he will be able to deal with the trauma. If he will even remember his name. He might not be able to remember anything at all. Sari isn't dealing with it very well either. She feels responsible.”

Nodding slowly, tilting his head sympathetically in the direction of Sumdac's last creation, Hardline nodded, “I understand though, if I may ask, could you send a report of the two's histories for their citizens' files. Yes, since you will be accepting a caretaker bond for both of them, they will automatically become full Cybertronain citizens. We still need some records for medical and the teaching centers though. Perhaps during the time off for your bonding sessions you can write something up for the record.”

Ratchet, almost having forgotten the mandatory spark-bonding time with adoptions and that he would have to find a medic for that as well, merely nodded as he swallowed his half-truths. He didn't know how he was going to get around both of those issues, he didn’t even know if Sari could form sparkling-caretaker bonds or Reboot for that matter, but perhaps he could ask some old friends like Red Alert or Wheeljack. They might have some ideas of how to tell the truth without exactly lying either. Personally, he and the old team could have cared less if Sari was half organic and that Reboot had been made from and organic . Unfortunately, that didn't mean the rest of the world felt that way.

She would never be able to live a normal life on Cybertron if anyone knew. Maybe one day, but not anytime soon.

“I'll see what I can do,” finally answered Ratchet, giving a tired look to the small femme, suddenly feeling older than usual. “Can I take her home now or is there some paperwork to fill out?”

Safe Guard, a representative of the Youngling Caretaker's Centers would have usually demanded that all the paperwork be filed before a youngling was taken into a caretaker's care, but merely nodded when she looked at the aging mech's tired form.

“You can fill out some digi-pads tomorrow. It’s been a hard cycle for you and the youngling. You were on Optimus' Primes team after all and are an upstanding citizen. You may take her. Reboot, of course, will remain here,” said the femme kindly, her next words soft. “We’ll keep an eye on him until he … recovers.”

If he recovered was personally Ratchet’s own thoughts. The body was experimental. The spark was created from the last sparks of a dead key. There was no way it should have worked … and yet he was there, unresponsive, but with a sparkbeat nonetheless.

Nodding tiredly, he offered a hand to Sari and after a few moments of sniffling she allowed him to pick her up, the old bot holding her close to his chassis. He held her like she was a sparkling, a youngling, listening to his spark murmur on.

Be it luck or Primus’ blessing, the young femme fell asleep on the way home, Ratchet tucking her onto his couch without the need of an explanation … yet.

Standing over the small femme, feeling tired and old and worn and sad for the human’s passing. And yet he found for the first time in a long time he was content. With the war he had never dwelt on having someone, someone to take care of, even if she was half organic. He had quietly always thought young bots a burden. Now … now he did not feel that way. Sari would never be a burden and neither Reboot.

For the first time in a long time, Ratchet had someone to truly care about, to truly call his own. Leaning down, he pressed his helm against the femme's helm in an old shown of parental affection and decided that though it might be hard at first, Sari would be the daughter he always wanted.

…

Ultra Magnus walked smoothly and quietly down the halls of command, his optics on a digi-pad in his hands. It was a report from Sentinel about what one of his operatives had discovered in Megatron's territory. Yes, _Megatron's_ territory. As much as he hated to admit it, the Decepticon's didn't disband when the warlord fell. If anything, they gathered together and became more encompassed in their beliefs that the Autobots had wrong them and their ancestors. Breaking down their walls and colonies was going to be a long rung out assignment.

Venting at the news, the Magnus stepped into an elevator, heading to communications to see if the ex-Prime was still around. He knew that Sentinel would come and go from the office to get his work done. He would sometimes be there late at night to catch up at his work at ungodly hours. His schedule was unpredictable and so unlike his old self.

He frowned deeply, something pulling at this spark as he dwelt on his old second in command: Sentinel Minor.

Ultra Magnus would admit that he had found the blue mech irritating on occasion, but he was young, he would learn. He was a good bot, but something had _happened_.

He wasn't sure what had. He had been asleep to the world, hanging on by a thread like a fly dangling from a spider’s web, and when he awoke he had only saw chaos. He had seen an abuse of power and youthful foolishness. He had seen even more when the young mech had taken on a sparkling-like tantrum and then wandered off without a word … only to return, broken.

He remembered that very well; the day Sentinel returned from his disappearance. He had always seen Sentinel as sturdy, but when Rodimus Prime had brought the ex-Prime out in a hover-chair, Magnus more than willing threw _another_ demotion out the window. His glossa had stalled. Sentinel was _different_. Yes, there were now weld marks crossed to and fro on his from like many cracks in glass, but the other seemed broken in a different way. He seemed tired and exhausted and silent.

Sentinel had never been silent.

And that was why nothing really ever came to pass during the other’s silent absence. Yes, there was no doubt in his mind that Docker’s medics hadn’t thought to call Cybertron, they weren’t on the best of terms, but why had Sentinel taken a plain paint job to begin with or disappeared from his prearrange flight?

And then there was Optimus’ report about something that happened in a sewer system on Earth. The mech had mentioned it at his side, but said a full report had never been written which was so unlike his ex-Second. Sentinel had been exceptional with filing and report making, he still showed that to this very day, but his report on the matter when it had shown up was _incomplete_. It was little more than a paragraph the date, time and location with the parties involved.

Despite himself, knowing he had more pressing issues as the Magnus of Cybertron, he dwelt on the small entry, word for word memorized as his CPU unknowing dwelled on it whenever the Communication’s Officer would sit at the back of the room or polite decline Senators’ invitations and frown actively. In the past he would have smiled and pressed out his chin.

He knew it all had to do with the file. It had to. Even right now he dwelt on the simple description in the file report:

_Upon looking for the Decepticon spy, designation Wasp, in the city of Detroit on the planet Earth, the third planet from the star in the X-C392 System, we were engaged by a mech calling himself Soundwave. Please refer to Optimus’ Primes’ report DR-2322-ONT-20935 for full background. With the use of sonic weaponry he was able to overcome myself and then Optimus Prime. Upon waking, Soundwave announced the want to reconfigure his form by stealing design schematics and materials from us. He had used unusual torture methods to try and incur that information. Only when Optimus’ mental device, attached and activate upon the moment of awaking in Soundwave’s subterranean lair, shorted out was I offered a moment in refute to attack the perpetrator. Soundwave did not survive the encounter._

That was it: _unusual torture_.

The weak file had been happened upon during the search of the missing Prime while looking for clues of his status. It had been filed away as if it were unimportant and insignificant, approved by himself during his time as Magnus and left to be forgotten.

Ultra Magnus was not stupid. He was busy, but not stupid. Something had happened to the ex-Prime, something that pressed him down a destructive path. And Magnus, he had been waiting, patiently as was his nature, for the blue mech to come to him and confess his hardships. He knew that the young mech looked up to him, idolized him … but the blue mech said nothing. He just grew more and more distant. He hadn’t even thrown one of his famous fits in ages. True, Sentinel had never thrown one in front of the Magnus himself, but he knew they occurred.

If anything, the young mech just seemed far more tired with every gathered orn, his once battle ready reflexes never seemed to quite return even as his scars faded way. He seemed … _burdened_. There was no better word for it. It was like he was slowly cracking under some great weight.

What it was, he had his suspicions. Some mechs didn’t fare well with torture. He knew it was cruel of him to think so, but perhaps it was for the best that Sentinel had not become the next Magnus. He would have cracked, sooner or later under the pressure. Optimus though, he was a mech that he had hopes for. Yes, he did not have the military prowess or the political charm that had clung to Sentinel like a second coat of wax, but he had the potential to be a fair and strong leader; someone who would make hard and reasonable choices; someone that the people could look up to in times of need and hardship.

Optimus Prime was promised great things.

Dwelling on his new Second for a moment, Ultra Magnus had almost, _almost_ , missed it … a clink behind him.

Stalling, his hand tightening on the digi-pad in hand, the large mech tilted his head somewhat, trying to see out of the corner of his optic. Behind him was a half-dark hall, silent except for the hum of his own vents and a clicking. A soft clicking like a thousand little fingers tapping against glass, almost like rain.

Shifting his head slightly, he realized that it was coming from an evidence storage room, the door ever so slightly ajar down the seam in the middle as if someone had forced it open with their bare servos, the room dark except for a faint light.

Reaching for a blaster in his subspace while subspacing his digi-pad, knowing his hammer was too big for an enclosed battle, he slowly made his way over to the room. He had his gun high, drawing ever nearer to the door, and just when he was about to make his way to the door, the floor creaked.

The clicking stopped, a low growl suddenly coming from the room and before Magnus could even catch sight of the perpetrator, something knocked into his chest, sending him into the further wall. Optics stuttering off line from the impact, his gun thrust out of his hand, the Magnus didn’t even get to see the intruder’s model type or anything … all he saw was a shadow fleeing around the corner.

Sitting there a moment, looking down both halls, part of him wondering why the perpetrator hadn’t struck out when he had been down, the Magnus stopped looking for the mech or femme because they were obviously gone as quickly as they came.

Instead, his optics traveled to the door, now trying to close but unable to, stuck open because there was something in the door. It was the light from earlier, the only light in the room. It was alone digi-pad, its screen alight, flashing simply and showing some unknown guilt: _deletion complete_.

Ultra Magnus, reaching forward, frowned as he picked up the file, a recent horror overcoming him … they had another spy amongst their ranks, a saboteur.

...

Elsewhere, far from a now sleeping Sari and Ratchet and a frowning Magnus, Breakdown polished the last of his tools. The lights were all dim, the nearest thing to a night having settled over the world and yet the mech found he could not rest, could not even beg for recharge to settle into his frame. He could see it … see … could still see … Knock Out.

He offlined his optics for a moment, pulling his plates close in discomfort, his hands shaking.

It hadn't been real. He hadn't seen anything. He just needed to watch over Sentinel tonight, keep him in the clinic until he thought he was good enough to even attempt transforming after giving two donations, and then … he would get over it. He would get over the momentary lapse. He would get over the pain in his spark and the aching loneliness that had caused that _delusion_.

Knock Out was beyond his reach now.

He was locked away, in a cage, is paint probably dulling, not a lick of wax in sight, his wit likely silenced with an electric gag … it was … he was … his spark _hurt_. Seeing that delusion, that ghost, that-that thing: death would have been easier then remembering Knock Out's shape and curves and long elegant fingers and -

“Don't let him bother you … if you let him take hold, he'll try to kill you,” came a voice in the gloom, a child’s voice, young and blossoming like a flower that only opened its petals at night.

Breakout dropped his polishing rag, Knock Out's polishing rag, as he turned his head and stared at a small dwarfed form in the doorway. He quickly placed one hand on his knee and the other on top of his work desk, his hands still shaking slightly. It was merely Echo, his optics dim and sleepy. Breakdown had put him down to recharge in one of the spare rooms, telling him that his creator needed rest and that he would have to spend the night.

Echo had merely nodded, Breakdown picking him up and putting him to recharge. It had been … a warm feeling. It had pressed off the loneliness if only for a lingering moment. Sparklings were a treasure.

He had wanted one. He really had. If only he could have convinced … his other half.

Swallowing, finally gathering his voice, he murmured, “Let what bother me, young-spark? You must have had a bad recharge. Nothing is killing anyone.”

He rose to his feet, ready to put the youngling back to bed, when Echo spoke again, in a tone he likely had never used in front of his creator, scared and small … and _knowing_.

“It … does, the shadow. It told me. It told me it takes anyone with a broken spark … and makes them do horrible things to themselves.”

Echo's next words were choked, obviously held in for a while now, “He said … He said he almost got my creator. H-he said he almost had me too. He said I almost wasn’t born …”

Staling, hating the fearful look in the young mech's optics, Breakdown covered the distance in a few quick strides, picking up the young mech before the first click even escaped his vocalizer, his words soft as he placed Echo's little head on his shoulder plate, “Shush, shush there little mech. No need for tears. It’s just a nightmare. Something caused by bad energon. Nothing tried to hurt your creator … or you.”

Breakdown, despite himself, found that the youngling's words had haunted him like they were a deep truth. So, instead of taking the whimpering youth to the spare bed, he took the youth to his own. He allowed the youngling to fall asleep to his spark beat as was normal for caretakers and younglings … though he did not recharge a wink, optics watching the shadows.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Sari is now thrown full play into the tale. Everyone’s story converges at one point in one way or the other. As for Sari, sorry if she seems OC. You have to realize she is just going through a major trauma and is angry at her father more so than Ratchet or anyone else. She is still, mentally, a child after all. As for Echo … he knows more than he's willing to tell and has his own secrets, just like is creator. Plus, I finally gave a little impute of how Ultra Magnus feels about Sentinel something someone asked about once.


	26. Should Have Stayed in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Sentinel laid there, a ping of agony in his chassis. He didn't move. He dared not twitch because he knew it was his spark that ached so. He also knew that he was in the recovery room at Breakdown's clinic and that this donation had to have gone badly given that Breakdown actually had him on painkillers. He knew the telltale dull sting of those and medical grade energon.

Red Alert had kept him so doped up upon his recovery after Echo that he barely could move his limbs. She had refused to let him move freely until they were back to Cybertron with _proper medics_ , to have his injuries checked. He was sure that comment alone was why he detested her now when a part of him might have found her good looking once upon a time. He secretly despised anyone that spoke negatively of the Docker City residents. In fact, from time to time, he dwelt on how life would have been if he had stayed.

Then again, he knew that the past would have caught up to him and his sparkling sooner or later. It was best not to dwell too much.

Daring to twitch his fingers, Sentinel actually groaned when he got the ping of a hail.

This couldn't be happening. He just wanted to recharge, to rest. And yet the pinging was insistent. He knew who it was. How could he not, and it was also marked important.

Great, _wonderful_. He just wanted a helm-ache with his spark-ache today.

Reluctantly, he answered it, “Sentinel Minor here.”

He never got used to using that title.

“Sir,” said Cliffjumper his voice sounding agitated and … _concerned?_ “Where have you been?”

Not knowing what else to say, he grumbled, “Recharging … obviously … it’s still morning.”

Cliffjumper was silent for a moment, his voice screeching slightly, “Its _mid-day_. Did you just _online_?”

Not knowing what else to say, still not wanting to online his optics, the mech murmured, “… Yes.”

Cliffjumper was silent on the other side, his next words grumbled, “Did you spend all night in a bar or _something_? Generally, I'd say good for you, you mope around the place too much, but the _Magnus_ has been in a foul mood. Apparently, there was some kind of _break in_ and the head of communications and intel, _you_ , hasn't even shown _up_?! Sir, this is part of your _job_! You might not be on the field, but if we have a break in, you should be dealing with it. Not me! I am not getting landed with this like last … uh … time.”

Sighing, catching the hint, Sentinel found himself hating how high strung Cliffjumper sometimes would become. Personally, he wanted to tell the other to just go without him and leave him to deactivate in peace. Or better yet, take Mirage to the meeting with him to make notes, because he knew how well those two got along. The room would break out into a bickering match and finally, _finally_ , they would either admit that they liked each other or tried to murder each other right there in front of the Magnus. Sentinel personally couldn’t tell himself and could only smile slightly at the thought.

Mirage was a mystery to him still. He was a new addition after all. He was one of the many staff that he added after dropping the old employees because of Longarm’s betrayal. There was no way of telling if any of them were corrupt. He was personally surprised he had not gained even more enemies. Then again, he had been careful on who he left go and who was given less … sensitive information. He had started playing politics after all. And though he perhaps wasn’t as practice as Magnus was with the Autobot High Council, he knew the games.

Then again, most of Longarm's staff (Shockwave if he had to be accurate) was probably just happy to have been investigated only briefly and not sent to Trypticon Prison, a Decepticon prison. Once you went in there, there was no coming out … except for Wasp.

Ugh, he didn’t need to think about that right now. That was an intel nightmare. No one knew how he got out or … what had come of him. The research department really wanted to get their hands on him though.

Regardless, he wished that his agents were a little more independent and not in a _Jazz_ sort of way. Yet, he knew the red mech was right and there was no point in ignoring his responsibilities because of a little pain.

Venting, telling himself not to be dramatic though he really, _really_ , wanted to be, Sentinel grumbled, “Don't get your gears in a twist, Cliffjumper. I'll … try to be there as soon as possible. Please just head in without me, tell them I will be in as soon as possible. Sentinel _Minor_ out.”

Cliffjumper was cut off before he could say another thing.

Laying there a moment, his chest feeling tight and achy and sorer than he recalled it ever feeling, like a live wire imbedded in a growing tree, he wondered vaguely if Optimus would be there. Despite himself, he shuddered, reminding himself that he was already late so if he was lucky he would be stuck in the left over seat so he’d luckily be as far from Optimus as possible. All the other departments and high officers always seemed to want to communicate with the new next in line, get there claws into him while he was young. It was not a tactic that Sentinel was estranged to … the same had been done to him, when he was supposed to be the next Magnus.

For a moment the tightness in his chest wasn’t from the surgery, but from that longing, a hurt that had drove him to desperation more than a vorn ago. The want for order and control and dare he say it: unfeelingness. It was something that he had dwelt on after he started raising Echo and Elita’s _ghost_.

Everything had become skewed with her accident it seemed and though there was now a want for rules and order and to be looked upon as noble and powerful, it also meant he could be _cold_. Magnus was many things in the bot’s mind, but cold was one thing his mind had labeled the other. The Magnus didn’t have to feel anything, wasn’t supposed to.

He had wanted that. He was tired of feeling guilty and hurt and jealous … he wanted to be cold in the noblest way possible.

And look where that got him.

Sentinel looked around the small recovery room, clean and plain and just slightly run down, but not unpleasantly so. Rustic perhaps. Breakdown wasn’t known for living in a glamorous part of town (though acceptable for him to be seen there with a sparkling), but he did things other medics would find unsavory without question. To him … abortions were contraceptive maintenance, spark donations were spark casing checks, optic color changes were optical sensor updating, and wing nub removal was servo maintenance.

Though his child was entirely Autobot in every way, he now realized that there were so many mechs hidden in the underbelly of the world. Mechs with a yearning for the sky, their wings long since removed; and children with red optics that had to have them removed and suffered through being partially blind in many ways for the rest of the existence because his or her systems were set for red; and coding for war models and frames adjusted and bent down to fall to the will of Autobot society leaving their systems glitched from a lack of important coding.

So many … so many secrets. So many of his society’s rules broken. So much silent suffering.

In the past, before Echo, if he had discovered this side of his world, he might have gone on a war path. Dare he say it, he might have done something _unforgivable_ as Magnus. Suffering though, despite its cold grip, was a good teacher. In fact, it was the best teacher that set out to kill all of her students. Sometimes the lesson was not comprehended … sometimes it made you a better mech.

As much as it pained him, he would admit he was a better mech and that some rules were meant to be broken.

Sonic Trip was a perfect example and he knew she suffered from silent hatred for something she couldn’t control. Then again, she had a home to go to. She didn’t have to hide in plain sight. She had a place to accept her at the end of the mega-cycle. That was why Sentinel found he could not judge Breakdown as much as he couldn’t judge Sonic Trip or her currently ‘missing’ parental files that Cliffjumper had _unknowingly_ filed incorrectly.

Sentinel had gotten her into the Autobot Academy and though he doubted they would ever allow her to rise to an Elite status or be a true Autobot for that matter, at least he knew that there was someone he didn’t have to keep his secrets from.

Too bad the only academy that would actually take her was on the other side of the planet.

Sighing, deciding that right now was not the time to dwell on the secret world of surgery and crippled coding of hidden half-breeds, he turned his attention to the monitor on his left. Unlike the kind of berths that had monitors built in, Breakdown couldn’t afford such an expensive tool so an old monitor probably from the Great War flickered softly, telling the mech that his spark was indeed beating, though with the way it was aching. How could he think anything else?

Looking at the port in his wrist and the jack attaching him to the monitor, he gave a slight tug and pulled free. He watched almost groggily as the medical monitor stalled before suddenly blinking as it sent a distress signal … presumably Breakdown. Cursing himself, wondering if he should try to figure out how to turn off the device or to shove the jack back in before his butcher could storm in, the door slid open, Breakdown looking around madly. For a moment the bulky healer stood there, vents gasping as if he had stormed across the small clinic, two young mechs behind him … one with a barely notable swollen belly.

Calming down, standing up straight, he looked back and asked the two young mechs to take a seat in the examination room before he closed the door behind him, his obviously annoyed large mass more than intimidating as he walked over to the monitor, turning off the alarm, but not the device. Instead, the large mech turned around and offered out a large hand, obviously wanting Sentinel’s wrist back so he could plug him back in.

Sentinel frowned. Generally, Breakdown wasn’t this demanding with his bedside manner. His current glare could have made Ultra Magnus twitch though, especially when Sentinel did not offer his wrist.

“Sentinel,” finally came a deep, demanding voice. “You need to stay in berth today, in the clinic, with this machine monitoring you. I need to discuss a few things about you and Echo's health.”

Sentinel, trying to shake off the lightheadedness that threatened to push him back into the berth, frowned. He did not like that tone at all. His mouth felt dry and he could not shake the slight tremble in his vocalizer as he scrambled to feel his creations part of their bond, “Did something … did something happen to _Echo_?”

He knew the answer within a moment as he felt his son stir slightly in the bond, apparently in recharge at the moment. His sparked ached due to the action though. Sentinel dared not twitch.

“No, he’s fine, but that is meaningless if your spark … can’t handle it anymore,” said Breakdown carefully as he pulled up a stool and sat down, his frown heavy on his facial plates. “There was a complication. I had to take more than usual and your spark activity … it got so bad last night I was afraid that you were going to flicker on me.”

Sentinel stalled, his vents in-taking air and holding it for a moment as he choked, “Flickered? As in my spark is going to-“

Breakdown put his hands up, stalling the other, “Nothing quite that bad. If anything, it was a minor flicker, nothing close to a full spark attack, but … I don’t think I can perform another spark donation with your spark being so … weak. Sentinel,” Breakdown’s voice was soft, his optic sad as he offered his hand out again to take Sentinel’s wrist, “You are going to have to find someone to ... stabilize your spark with. Since you have no physical want to romantically share your spark, I would recommend that you ask someone that you trust since you have no interest in being truly intimate.”

Sentinel sitting there, a confused and slightly horrified expression covering his face, shook his head, “I do not understand. You said that you would do this procedure. You have been doing so for the last vorn and a half. You just can’t _stop_. Echo will … Echo will.”

“He would offline from the backlash alone if his carrier-creation bond is broken, Sentinel,” said Breakdown, his tone harsh. Then, as if feeling bad for using that tone on one of his more needy patients, he added, “I know that you don’t want to be with anyone, but I have been asking for a long time now if you found anyone for a reason. I-if you really can’t find anyone … I promise I would be gentle.”

His spark sinking, a part of him unable to comprehend that this was really happening, that it was do or die when it came to keeping Echo alive, he found he couldn’t deal with this.

He suddenly found himself on his feet, wanting to be anywhere but here, wanting to be anywhere thinking anything, but what Breakdown had just said.

He knew it was true. He had always known that he was on a time limit when it came to carving up his spark, but it had always seemed so far away, like a distant nightmare that may never come to pass, but here it was speaking to him in a calm voice, the voice of Breakdown.

He needed to get away. He needed to work. He needed to think of anything, anything but this _nightmare_.

He had to grab Echo and go to work. He had to work. He couldn’t deal with this, with the thought of ever letting someone touch him again. He-he … he had to leave _now_.

“I need to go. There’s an important meeting at Metroplex that I’m already late for,” said Sentinel as his feet struggled to stay under him, his system binging at him in distress. “I will … I will talk to you later. I’m just going to grab Echo.”

“Sentinel, Sentinel. Calm down, sit back down. Going to work isn’t going to make this better. Sentinel!”

Sentinel was already out of the clinic’s doors with a sleeping Echo in his arms. He didn’t question why the other had been in Breakdown’s hab-suite or why Codebreaker wasn’t answering his pings to drop off Echo late. There was always Low Tones after all. She was a good sitter … though she could be a little scattered brained at times and he just couldn’t deal with that right now.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure he could keep anything together right now either.

…

Ratchet's peds stepped as softly as they possibly could. He had been awaken early that morning by a call from Optimus, asking how Sari was doing and how … Sumdac was. Correction, how _Reboot_ was. He had called already and the little mech was still catatonic, unresponsive, but at least his spark seemed far more stable. Small blessings he supposed because today was going to be hard. Now, he just had to tell Sari of her current circumstances and how he planned to follow through with said plans.

He doubted she would be happy.

No, in fact, he really wished Optimus could have gotten out of that important morning meeting so they could have been yelled at together. In the past, he would have never dreamed of Sari seriously screaming at him, but she had changed in the last vorn. She was not an adult, no matter how much she tried to act like one, but neither was she the sparkingly by Cybertronian standards. She just seemed … weary. Too weary for one so young.

Turning his gaze away from the femme that was still hopelessly passed out on the equivalent of a giant couch, he turned his attention to the dreaded door. Egh, he did not want to go in there. He had no idea what was in there in all honestly, but he was almost disappointed that some younger mechs like Bumblebee weren’t around … so he could chuckle when a pile of junk fell on him.

Sniggering to himself softly at the thought of the young mech yipping before he was covered in old medical digi-pads and things covered in rusty dust, he opened the door and stared at the piles of junk inside for a moment. He was sure he would have to finally throw some things or at least make room elsewhere, but he was sure the room would be perfect for Sari … and her brother, Reboot.

He frowned slightly at the thought as he readied himself to start his day of cleaning. That _thought_ … had come too quickly. The poor scientist might still be in there. Perhaps brother was too bold of a term? Maybe? … _Unlikely_? Not that he wanted to voice what Sari was so certain about. She was sure her father was offline and he could tell without a doubt that she hated the creation her father had made. Personally, he washopeful regardless of the outcome. It might have seemed strange and odd and out of character for him, but he wished that he had had a creation now that he was older. He wished he had had someone to care for and love and to be thought of fondly when his spark faded. He wanted to feel a tug on the side of his spark where a bond would rest and worm its way into his deepest thoughts.

Not that he knew if a bond could even form. Sari was a techno-organic no matter how easily she could blend in and Reboot … he didn’t even know of the child had a mind to him. He could very well end up little more than a drone.

He couldn't even ask for a bond mate either … Arcee didn't think of him tat way. She was young, a new mind to a new world.

He sighed, his shoulder’s sagging. There were too many questions here and just like this room, this clutter mess: he didn’t even know where to begin.

“Ratchet?”

The old mech nearly jumped out of his armor, dropping the pile of digi-pads in hand as he turned around, his battle protocols threatening to come online … only to stall as he stared at a small femme before him, a blanket drug behind her in a half exhausted expression. She looked miserable.

“Ah, good morning kid. How did you recharge?” he asked, trying not to grunt as he bent over to pick up the digi-pads.

Sari, her face void of most expressions, asked, “Where are we?”

Stalling, for a moment, rising to his feet as he placed the digi-pads on top of a nearby shelf, he frowned heavily and grumbled, “My habitation suite. Home, kid.”

The femme, her organic face showing, frowned and raised a brow in question as if asking why he was acting nicer than usual. Not knowing what else to do, he grumbled, “Come on short stuff, let’s get you some … uh … breakfast.”

Sari, still looking particularly miserable, merely padded after the other, her footsteps heavy for one so small. It didn’t take long before she was seated on the table itself, cross legged with her blanket thrown over her shoulders. She looked like a refugee and Ratchet would be lying if he said his spark didn’t ache for her, but she was his responsibility now and he was promising to uphold his vow to that lost father. He would treat her like any young femme, too bright for her own good in some ways.

He already knew that he was going to increase her energon and metal consumption. He could tell that her frame was trying to grow but she got so little energon and metal, she had barely gain any thickness to her armor and though he knew he was getting ahead of himself, he did hope he could somehow get ahold of a triple-changers code and allow her to have a real alt mode. Yes, her organic form had its uses, but not here, not this planet and he refused to have her ostracized and hid away here as she had likely been on Earth as time refused to touch her.

Then again, where was he even going to find a triple-changer code? Those were … a Decepticon thing.

Brushing off the idea for now since she was technically too young to even transform into a full alt mode by Cybertronian standards, he came back from a cabinet that seamlessly blended back into the wall, a few small tools in hand. He then placed some powdered metals down along with some medical grade and low grade. He didn’t need another medic chiding him about her health. In fact, he wanted to keep other medics away from Sari as long as possible. He’d do all of his own medical care, thank you very much.

For as long as he could that is. Likely the youngling centers would want some official records.

Sari, sitting there, so exhausted she just wanted to lie down and die, she watched the old medic ground and mix and blend metals and energon. She knew what energon was though her experience with it was limited. Ratchet had visited once or twice when she had gotten sick and given it to her in gel form. It had not been … okay. If electricity had a taste and that taste was given Jell-O form with just a slight aftertaste of what she could only express as the wind and life, that would be gelled energon.

It was interesting, though she would still rather have a burger.

Then, as if on cue, her stomach let out a loud whine which even caused Ratchet to stall and give her a raised brow.

Placing a hand on her stomach while rubbing the back of her head, she murmured, “Sorry it’s just … I haven’t eaten since … since dad.”

Ratchet frowned, nodding, keeping the silence until he finally finished what looked like a miniature lighted version of the universe; in soup form. Gazing at the cube that had been placed before her, a mixture of many metals glimmer in partially gelled energon and coolants, the femme looked up at the large mech as he took a seat with his own cube of normal energon, the mech tipping a little oil in as if it were creamer.

“You are kidding, right?” she asked as she looked up at the other, ignoring her reflection in the cube.

Taking a sip before he pulled out a digi-pad as if it were the morning paper, the medic grumbled, “No, that is breakfast and its best that you get used to it missy. Its metal infused light grade energon with just a touch of high grade. Its for malnutritioned younglings. It’s also known as a type of medical grade.”

The femme let the spoon fall into the goop for a moment, her grumpiness very forward, “So you are feeding me medicine … for breakfast? And what do you mean I better get used to this? I need to go home, Ratchet. I need to … I need to bury my dad.”

Ratchet, swallowing, cursing himself for not watching his glossa better, sighed, “Your father donated his body to science so the medical world could make use of his … creations. Now, please try your breakfast and then you and I … are going to have a long discussion, all-right young-bot.”

Sari, biting her lip, looking away at the thought that some grad students were going to be taking her father's body apart, could only reply, “I-I don't have time for pleasantries, Ratchet. My father needs to be buried. I want to at least have him cremated. And what of the company? Ratchet, I get you don't want to leave me alone after … after what happened, but I have responsibilities. I'm an adult after all.”

Ratchet, his tone almost biting, came back just as impatient, “You are a _child_. A _youngling_. You should not be running a business or burying bodies. You should … you shouldn't have such worries. You should be learning things like a normal youngling, forming bonds and learning skills.”

“I'm nearly two hundred years-”

“You are _barely_ a vorn and a half old. Barely out of sparkling-hood by Cybertronian standards. Some mechlings or femmes can barely speak full sentences at your age,” he gruffly replied back, part of his mind tell him that this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to react to her anger or frustration. He was supposed to let her down easy.

Then again, _Sari_ and _easy_ were not words that generally went well together.

Sari, frowning at this moment, her glare so cold it could freeze metal, she asked almost too calmly, “Ratchet … what did you mean that I need to get used to it?”

Staring at the femme for a moment, knowing that there was no way to detour her from something once she had her mind set on it, he sighed through his vents and placed his digi-pad down, his tone soft, “I wanted to save this conversation for when Optimus got off of work, but since you insist, I'll tell you as simply as possible. I'm an old mech. I don't have time to attack the bush or whatever the idiom is.”

“It's beat around the bush, Ratchet,” she said, her frown growing though a part of her said it was best to let him speak.

“Pah, that makes not sense. Regardless, Sari … you are a child by Cybertronian standards and despite two hundred years being a long time to a human, it is not for a Cybertronian.”

Part of her catching on to where this conversation was heading and a part of her not liking it at, she interrupted as if it were a debate, “Yes, but I'm a techno-organic. Meaning I will age … differently. You yourself told my dad you didn't know how long I would live when I … didn't age. So, I might be a sparkling here, but on Earth-”

“You are still a child,” he cut her off, in no mood for a debate. “Your father was a scientist, Sari. As such he gauged your growth and mental capacity. You're tutor bots were just as much for testing you in a literal sense as in a physical, especially after you upgraded with the key. When you did that, your human growth cycle all but stopped except for digestive and tissue replacement and your Cybertronian side became more dominate. Thus, that is why you have never grown taller or developed … reproductively.”

Sari was looking more and more horrified, but Ratchet just continued.

“You have never had a first cycle because you are too young in your human form. Yes, you might have just been on the cusp of it with your upgrade, but now your body depends on your Cybertronian form. Thus, why you find yourself nibbling on metallic pens and silverware when you think no one is looking. Your body was trying to feed itself to grow … your robotic side. And the same for your mind. You might be intelligent, abnormally so, but you have trouble grasping certain concepts like complex situations and emotions. Sari, though you are more mature than most your age, you still in body and mind are a child.”

Sari, finding this all a bit too much to swallow, part of her still wondering how she hadn't noticed her father gathering data on her, found herself whispering, “And … you are telling me all this why, Ratchet?”

She knew. She already knew, but she had to hear it out loud.

Sighing, rubbing his old hands for a moment, the medic stated in the kindest manner, “As a minor, your father asked for Optimus or I to take you in. I chose to take in you as well as, Reboot, the form left behind by your father. I know you kept saying he is not your father and that may very well be possible … so I have taken to calling him your brother.”

Trying to ignore the horrified look forming on the femme’s face, Ratchet continued, “But … you don’t have to call him that. He has a spark so he’s alive, but what I think I’m trying to say Sari is that your father’s last will and testimate asked for me to take care of you and I … accepted. By Autobot courts, I am your new caretaker.”

For a moment, the femme was horrified, having risen to her feet, her head shaking slightly in denial before she finally murmured, “No, no, no! I am not a child, Ratchet! My father’s dead! You didn't give two scraps about me for nearly a vorn and a half. I’ve already been ostracized enough on one planet. I don’t need it on Cybertron as well! I was a freak! And the only friends that did not age and fade away were light-years away who only bothered to contact me every few years!”

She was all but screaming at one point, coolant tears dripping down her face, her next words cold and bitter. “And I know you helped him, Ratchet. In one way or another you helped implant that idea that he should build that-that body, that thing! I will not call it brother anymore than father! I am not staying on this planet a second more!”

Sari, battle mask dropping, was to the door before the older mech could barely get to his peds, the aging mech crying out to the obviously distraught femme, “Sari, young-bot, come back here. They are not going to let a youngling through a space bridge. Sari, Sari!”

Before he could say anything else, she had hopped up and opened the main door via the keypad. She then was zooming past two unlucky Cybertronians in the hall, a femme grabbing a small orange bot that had nearly fallen on his face. Stalling in the doorway, Ratchet watched as Sari zoomed around a corner, a few mechs or femmes screaming as she all but flew by. Personally, Ratchet was just glad that he hadn’t unpacked the things that he grabbed for her … she really didn’t need a jet-pack right now.

Sighing, rubbing his temple for a moment, he turned his head to see that the femme and mech were still standing there awkwardly. It was then that he noticed a familiar face and one that he knew only by reputation, an orange petite mech. The femme was from the Youngling Care Center, Safe Guard. The other was Ring? Rong? Rang? Was it? Hmm, maybe it was Rung … or Wrung.

Shaking his head, deciding he was too old for this, he tried not to frown at the small bot. He, personally, had ignored the psychiatrist bot like a plague after coming back from Earth. Everyone was worried that the rest of his team and him had befallen some trauma from being on an organic planet for so long. Either way, he was not in the mood for this. He had to find Sari. She might have been what he considered a high-functining youngling, but a youngling nonetheless.

“Safe Guard … Uh, Wrung?” Ratchet said in greeting before he closed the door behind him, ignoring the other’s comment of ‘ _its Rung actually’_ as he locked the door with a swipe of his hand. “I’m sure you came for paperwork … or to decide if I’m going to be a terrible caretaker, but this old bot has some bigger problems right now.”

Safe Guard, looking down the direction Sari had gone, nodded, “Did something happen?”

Starting a slow jog in the direction she went, he huffed, “She just proved my point that she’s a young bot … and that I’m not that good when it comes to a bedside manner.”

Ratchet could have sworn that Rung was jotting down everything that he said as the kindly femme helped him look for Sari, the medic telling himself that it was best not to react and act paranoid. He was sure his Autopedia was bad enough the way it was already and he didn’t need any new chapter length sections added.

…

Sentinel nearly whined when he finally managed to transform in front of Metroplex, his whole form feeling overtaxed and aching and downright miserable. Plus, he was low on energon yet he was expected to run down the halls if Cliffjumpers and now _Jazz’s_ pings were any indication. He had barely convinced Low Tones to take Echo today, something about a big test the next day and he had to be home by then. Really, how long did she think these meetings went?

Not that he had much information. It was probably another prank by those twins. And when he said twins, he meant one set or the other. Both Jetfire and Jetstorm had picked up some nasty habits and he could only presume that it had something to do with the two new twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Hellions, all of them. They had created a prank war or something of the such and everyone else just got sucked into the middle of it. He would say something, he really wanted to, but he was a _Minor_ now. The only mechs he truly held authority over in this place where in his department.

And even that was questionable at times.

Sucking in a deep vent, his systems pinging at him in stress as internal scarred welding seemed to jar with each step, the tried to understand what was going on with the limited information that had been sent to him. Something about a possible break-in.

Likely someone forgot their passcode or got locked in somewhere after hours because they were fragging around … literally probably.

Walking, half-jogging down the hall, trying to not twitch whenever his spark constricted in pain, he made his way to the room, the sight of Cliffjumper standing outside greeting him. Great. It was a high security meeting if they wouldn’t allow Cliffjumper in … which meant they were waiting for him.

Wonderful … just wonderful.

“Cliffjumper,” said Sentinel in greeting as he stalled, taking a digi-pad from the red mech.

“First, _Mirage_? _Really_? We’d deactivate each other. And where have you _been_? Everyone is wondering where you were _last night_ or for that matter, this morning? The Magnus only backed off when I said you went to some kind of medical _appointment_ yesterday, but then a few cycles later he asked why you hadn’t gone to the _Autobot Military Clinic_. _Apparently_ , he had checked. What was I supposed to say to _that_? That you go to a _butcher_ every few groons and come back half crippled …”

Cliffjumper stalled for a moment as if finally really seeing the other.

“… You look terrible, _sir_ ,” he added as an afterthought. “Are you … can you get through this meeting? I mean … you look _bad_. Your finish is even pale.”

Sentinel sighed, covering his optics with his hand for a moment, ready to speak his peace, when Cliffjumper interrupted again.

“You promised that you would allow an Autobot medic look at-”

“I never legally agreed to that,” grumbled Sentinel, knowing already he was going to regret saying that with the way Cliffjumper’s brow twitched, before he added, “I’m just low … really … really low. My tank feels empty.”

Sentinel hated how whiny that sounded.

Cliffjumper rolled his optics and opened his subspace, rummaging around before he pulled out a cube, giving it to the other. Personally, he knew he shouldn’t drink anything given how his systems had a habit of rebelling on him after a procedure, but this meeting could last groons. He had striven to stay off of certain mechs radar after Echo and he did not need their attention by passing out.

Opening the cube and managing to swallow barely a third of it, he resealed it and placed it in his subspace, ignoring Cliffjumper’s blatant glare as the red mech started again, “I’m serious. I’m setting up an appointment with a real medic. I’m doing it _today_ and I’m going to _drag_ you there.”

Sentinel was about to go into a dragging debate of ‘fat change of that happening’ when the door opened, the two mech’s stalling mid-word.

For a moment, Jazz stared at the two, giving each of a look before he stepped to the side in a welcoming fashion, “Wondering when you were goin’ to show up SM. We were getting a bit worried, you being the head of communications and intel.”

Sentinel tried to not twitch at the reminder of his position. He didn’t know why, but for some reason Jazz’s smile always irked him. It was like the other always wanted to say something more, apologize from his lack of communication between the two of them since his failure as Magnus, but at the same time Jazz wasn’t sorry. Sentinel knew Jazz wasn’t sorry that he took the Magnus’ Hammer and gave it to Optimus. He wasn’t sorry that he had opposed Sentinel while he was Magnus. He wasn’t sorry that he had chosen Earth and its bots … over _him_

Jazz was _never_ sorry.

He wasn’t sorry that he _gave up_ on him.

Sentinel knew that he was at fault as well. That he should have asked for help … should have said _something_ , but in all honestly the pain was too deep. The betrayal was still there and in turn sometimes there was even that … _whisper_. Elita’s voice. Sometimes, especially in the office when he was reminded of his failures as bots gave him stony looks and Echo was nowhere around to remind him otherwise, he would dwell on his fall.

How would the world have been if he had offlined? If no one had ever found him?

Would have it been better?

Would it have even matter?

Swallowing that thought, telling himself that Echo was worth any amount of suffering, he nodded to Jazz and apologized to the small collection of powerful military bots in the room, “Apologizes. I was detained last night and did not receive any messages until mid-morning.”

Ultra Magnus, who was looking at a digi-pad along with Optimus Prime, looked up and stared for a moment before giving a mute nod. He was then going to take a seat in the small company near Heatwave and Kup (he planned to keep his distance from Perceptor and Brainwave though he had no idea why they were even here in a security meeting). He didn’t even get that far though when Jazz grinned and walked passed him, childishly taking the seat he was about to take. He even grinned wickedly as he sat down, completely ignoring the look Kup and Heatwave were giving him.

Looking back up, not in the mood to question the other’s behavior, he stalled mid-step, his tank churning.

There was only one seat left and it was right next to none other than Optimus Prime.

Frag … maybe it would have been better if he had just listened to Breakdown and stayed in the berth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, a slow chapter, but it was also fairly long. Not a lot of action or anything, but then again I’m trying to do some background catch up in this chapter from the vorn and half time skip a few chapters back. Yes, as some of you more hardcore TF fans probably can already tell, I’ve started reading the IDW comics. Thus, Rung. I also kind of watch Rescue bots, thus Heatwave. Hope the update has pleased you all … especially since it is finally starting to lean towards the long awaited Romance part. Yeah, I see an end in sight … maybe … ugh, I feel like we are never going to get there.


	27. A Shoulder to Lean On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Optimus' spark was fluttering in his chassis as Sentinel slowly sat down next to him at the meeting table. He had no idea why, but for some reason he felt kind of breathless as if his spark was telling him to 'not fuck this up'. His spark was even beating in his chassis like a panicked little thing going on its first date.

Frag. Maybe Ratchet was right. He really did like Sentinel a lot.

Maybe he will try to talk to him.

When it was convenient for Sentinel of course.

Like that would every happen.

Sentinel treated him like a cyber-plaugue when he wasn’t full out ignoring him.

Frag, this wasn't the time to be flustered about like a school girl, but he just couldn't help himself. It was nice to be near the other mech. In fact, he couldn’t help but smile warmly at Sentinel as the blue mech sat down next to him. Sentinel even acknowledged him by offering a curt nod. Yet, Optimus' smile couldn't help but quickly fade.

Sentinel looked _terrible_ , and he wasn’t talking about the faint scars that still littered the blue mech's chassis from the fall. He honestly kind of liked the scars. He had his own from Megatron’s final battle after all, but right now Sentinel just looked like he was ready to fall over. And his color … it was so pale. He didn't look well at all. If anything, he should be in the medical wing being flounder over by some kind of medic and his apprentice.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one that noticed because that was the first thing out of Magnus’ mouth.

“It is good that you finally joined us, Sentinel Minor. Cliffjumper said you were indisposed, unwell even. I see now he wasn't exaggerating. Are you even well enough to participate in this meeting? You may head over to the medical bay, and though he's not exactly clearance, I can allow Cliffjumper to observe in your stead,” said the Magnus, frowning deeply. In fact, everyone now was looking at Sentinel.

Sentinel just wanted to shrink away as every set of optics fell onto him. He didn't need this kind of attention. Cliffjumper was bad enough with his near constant mothering, but to have all these mechs questioning his health as well.

He really should have stayed at Breakdown's.

Helm sensors flattening against his helm slightly, Sentinel tried to think of a quick excuse. He had learned from an ever growing list of lies that the thing closest to the truth was the easiest lie to uphold. Quickly placing the cube Cliffjumper had given him down with his digi-pads, Sentinel murmured, “Yes, sir. Just … tired. I will be fine. Just haven’t had my morning energon yet.”

Magnus merely nodded and then sat there patiently waiting as if he wouldn’t continue this meeting until Sentinel Minor had his morning (well, afternoon really) intake. Sighing, Sentinel stared down at the cube Cliffjumper had given him earlier. It obviously had additives in it if the swirling metals and coolants inside were any indication. Great, just the kind he _hated,_ medical grade. Unfortunately for him, it was also the only kind Cliffjumper would bring him anymore. He had to either go out and get his own energon, bring some with him or be forced to drink whatever Cliffjumper brought him during work.

 _Slagger_ thought Sentinel before opening the cube. He tried to drink it as quickly as he could, but still ended up half-gagging on the peta-flesh metals on the bottom.

“Disgusting,” finally murmured Sentinel when he was done, blatantly ignoring the half smiles on Jazz’s and Optimus’ facial plates. “Now, what seems to the matter, sir? Cliffjumper wasn’t able to give me very much information, but there apparently was some type of break in?”

Ultra Magnus nodded and started to tap away at the table, a floating holographic screen popping up for the table. It was then followed by several other screens, each seat receiving its own floating screen.

It was surveillance of the Magnus walking down the hall. It was late last night given the time indicator on the video and most of the halls were partially lit to conserve energy. It didn’t seem like anything special until the Magnus stalled and turned his head. It was as if he heard something. He then headed slightly down another hall where the camera couldn’t quite reach. He stalled at a door that was slightly open, pulling out his service weapon. He acted like was going to step inside, but then there was a flash of something black and the Magnus was slammed into the opposite wall.

It was shocking and over so quickly that it was merely a blink of the optic. Many of the mechs in the meeting brought their fingers to their personal screens to rewind the video or zoomed in, slow motion barely even able to catch a blur.

Before anyone could even inquire though, the video poor, Magnus continued, “The next image is from the room itself. Room U12-D, old record storage. Most of the video when I walked into the room was static, but before that, this is what we have.”

The next video was a few cycles before the Magnus walked by the hall. At first, it just showed a slightly dim room of sub-space filing cabinets. Then, the screen going staticy for a moment, right at the bottom of the door was a black blotch. It was a forming darkness which slowly formed into grisly fingers before suddenly jerking at the underside of the structure. It jerked once or twice more before shimming its way into the center seem of the door. It then slowly forced the door open. Yet, just as the door gave way, a darkness seemed to crawl into the room like a creeping fog. The faint light in the room was suddenly useless until the image became staticy and then finally black. The camera kept recording though. It was as if it was just recording a dark room and nothing was damaged.

Before anyone could even digest that video, Magnus was speaking again while hooking a jack from the table into his own wrist. The next video was obviously from the large mech’s own memory files. He had just looked up for a digi-file, a faint clicking filling his audios. He then turned towards the room, pulling out his service weapon. Even with the Magnus’ first person view, there was barely even a glimpse of the figure in the room before it slammed into the large mech. The only thing for certain was that there was figure in the data room and that he or she had grabbed a hold of one file, erasing it. There was no way of telling how man files they had destroyed or altered before Magnus showed up, but the thought was troubling.

Kup, frowning, squinted at his screen, all the videos frozen on the black blur. His words were troubled as he chewed on his cy-gar, “What is that? It’s like a black blob. It looks like something I’d hacked up once in the medic’s office.”

“Perhaps you should stop smoking then,” pried Heatwave before he zoomed into his own screen, adding, “Most likely it was too fast for the screen to catch a full image.”

Kup merely frowned as the rest of the table continued as if he hadn't personally been singled out.

“Now, it’s more like its incorporeal? Perhaps it’s some type of shifting equipment or fog equipment that’s helping him blend in with the surroundings,” said Brainwave.

“Doubt it. Usually there is a slight shimmer to that technology,” interrupted Perceptor.

“The real question is what they were destroying,” commented another, the room filled with voices.

Sentinel Minor, meanwhile, was stuck staring at one part of the video. He watched a loop of those black fingers repeatedly circling over and over again under the bottom of the door. It was … it was _frightening_. Looking at those dark black-rust fingers reminded him of being trapped in the dark again, injured, just waiting for something to come and end him. For some reason all he could think of was the tale Sonic Trip had told him. The tale of a, “Shadow.”

Despite himself, he had said it aloud, barely above a whisper. Optimus had caught it though.

“A shadow?” said Optimus. “Is that a name of a mech or something that special intelligence is after?”

Suddenly, everyone was looking at Sentinel. The mech stalled. Mind struggling for an answer while not wanting to sound superstitious. He floundered. “It’s just that … it looks like a shadow. I was thinking of what to call this perpetrator for the file until we figure out his real name.”

Staring at his own screen, Magnus nodded, “I agree, but I think we have something more important to do … like figure out what was on those files. Sentinel, can you please scour data-collections to see if any other files were damaged or corrupted. Perhaps you could even find a backup for what was on that file. Brainwave, can you please look at the digi-file itself. Perhaps you can find the programs he used to hack into it. All those files are protect as well as the cabinets they are stored it. Perceptor, look into whatever that … shadow … equipment was and -”

And that was how the rest of the meeting continued, mechs debating and looking at the evidence. Sentinel, personally, was just struggling to remain online. For it seemed that Cliffjumper’s medical cube had more additives in it than he initially thought. There were apparently minor pain killers. He might not have even noticed if it was a usual day back after having his spark caved into, but since Breakdown had had him already on pain killers when he stormed out … he was finding it hard to concentrate. It made him wonder how long Cliffjumper had been secretly medicating him. It probably explained why was so adamant in the past about giving him his cubes after an appointment.

Interfering slagger and yet he couldn't bring himself to be completely angry. Either way, he was pleasantly numb now, and no one seemed to notice he was almost high. Everyone was too busy bouncing theories back and forth. No one but Optimus that is.

He only reason he noticed the glazed optics at all was because Sentinel was so numb he had unknowingly placed his pinky digit over the top of Optimus' pinky digit on the table, their small digits slightly encircling each other. Sentinel's form was almost leaning towards him as well. They were so close that Optimus had to keep from blushing, the Prime glad for the nearly dark room as everyone re-watched the videos.

Well … apparently someone noticed. Jazz was trying his best not to smirk across the table.

Oooh, he knew he was right about that little crush on Optimus’ part. And thought it wasn’t exactly the right time to be dwelling on something as mundane as matchmaking, Jazz always loved a challenge. He also wanted to mend some bridges. That was probably why he jumped at the chance to volunteer himself, Sentinel and Optimus to go through data files that night.

Frag, none of them were going home after a security breach like this anyway.

At least someone should get to enjoy it.

…

“What do you mean I am not old enough to use the space bridge!” screeched Sari, the tone of her voice causing the security mechs to twitch. Her Cybertronian might have been a little broken, but she was sure her point came across.

“Now, little missy,” said the older security bot that was sporting a visor. “Even going to a well know Autobot colony, someone your age requires an adult to go with yah. But this E-art isn't even an Autobot colony for that matter a documented providence of the Autobot Commonwealth. Apparently, from what I can fine, it populated by organics as well. We ain't letting a young femme wander off to Primus knows where.”

The younger red mech next to the blue visored mech nodded in agreement with his partner. “I agree. Do I have to call the youngling centers or do you have a caretaker? We need to give them a call. What could be so bad that you want to run away to an organic infested planet?”

“Its called EARTH!” screamed Sari, the swords in her arms threatening to come out of their sheaths. She even thought about dropping her face mask to scare them into action, but that would just cause panic. Fanzone had told her the tale a few years before he died. Autobots did not react well to organics.

Putting his hands up in a calming motion, the red mech continued to try and pacify her. “Now, now. No more screeching or we'll call in the Military Guard to come take you into custody. You are disturbing the peace. Now, I'll ask again, what is your creator's comm number?”

Sari, behind her mask, was on the verge of tears. Her father was dead, she was trapped on a planet where beings were afraid of her face, she was nearly two hundred years old and was being treated like a five year old, Ratchet was basically telling her he was her new dad, and her real dad's body was probably getting chopped up as a science experiment while she stood here. She didn't even get to have a real funeral. It was … was too much.

Despite herself, despite knowing that she was probably proving the two security mech's right, she fell to her knees and started sobbing. It wasn't even the graceful kind of sobbing. It was the kind of wailing that made ever mech within hearing range turn and stare and her choked sobs. It was messy and loud and she was even dripping energon tears from her mask. It was a pathetic display, and she didn't care. She just cried harder. She didn't even really know why she as crying. She was just thinking of every human she had ever known and there mortality, and how she was going to be ostracized all over again. Wasn't high school bad enough? Why had the Allspark made her this way at all? If Primus was real … he would have let her fry with her father.

“Hey, hey, hey. None of that. None of that,” said the older blue mech as he stepped forward and picked the femme up without hesitation, a large hand rubbing her on the back as he tried to calm her. “Shh, shh, youngling. Its okay. Its alright. Burnzone didn't mean to scare you with the Military Guard. There, there. Calm down. Just tell old Wavelength what's wrong and I'll do what I can.”

Hiccuping, Sari tried to collect herself. Part of her felt this was degrading while her young spark was more than content that someone was holding her, that an older spark was trying to comfort her. She just … she just didn't want those around her dying anymore.

Patting her back, having raised more than one sparkling in his time, Wavelength glared at his young partner before gently asking, “Now, there we go. Just calm down. Everything's okay. You are safe. No one's trying to hurt you. Now, who's your creator, huh? I'm sure they are worried about you.”

Then, as if in answer, a medical vehicle came tearing in their direction. A moment later an aged yet seemingly active Autobot slid to a stop in front of them. The two security bots didn't even get to question the mech's hurry when he quickly transformed and stepped up to Wavelength with open arms. His vents were panting as he pratically begged, “Sari? What's going on? Give her to me.”

Wavelength, petting the femme's back struts again in a comforting manner, stared at the older mech's offered arms. Wavelength wasn't just going to give a crying child to anyone. Yet, the moment two other forms transformed and stared at him, he realized there was no need to worry. The femme had a symbol on her chest giving her away as someone from the youngling centers.

Slowly handing over the small form of Sari, Wavelength couldn't help but state, “Youngling was trying to get passage to the space bridge. Stopped her, of course. She said something about wanting to go to Ergth.”

Ratchet, sighing, his spark singing in relief as he held Sari close, could only murmur, “Thank you for stopping her. There's noting there for her anymore … And it was called Earth.”

...

Ooooh he hated Jazz.

Fraggen hated him.

True, Sentinel knew that this meeting was going to drag on late into the evening, but he at least expected to go home this evening. Currently, they were finally finishing up with the endless dispute of what it was, who sent it and what it was after. In truth, nobody knew. If anyone knew, they wouldn't be having a meeting about it. Someone would be acting. Sentinel knew he was going to get stuck with most of the heavy lifting … well, his department was, but regardless he did not want to spend the rest of the night sending mechs out to Primus knows were to look for information on shadow figures and destroyed information.

Worst of all he was stuck with Optimus and Jazz.

Ugh, two of the worst mechs possible.

Well, at least he wasn't in pain. His spark had been surprisingly calm sitting there next to Optimus all afternoon. Maybe he should actually get Breakdown to recommend a painkiller to him. Given how much agony he was in this morning, he was surprised he hadn't passed out half-way through or at least lost his energon.

Then again, he was two shakes from being high off of painkillers.

“Well, that will be all for tonight,” finished up Magnus as he rose to his feet, signaling towards the door. “I do hope that tomorrow we will have more information on this menace. Optimus Prime, Sentinel Minor, Officer Jazz … thank you again for staying tonight. I know someone of lower rank could be sent to scrutinize the files, but just in case its something sensitive its best a mech of the correct rank has access to it.”

Everyone rising to their feet to end the meeting, Sentinel almost sighed in relief only to suddenly feel his equilibrium tremble as he stood. Both Optimus and Heatwave saw him stumble, each reaching forward to catch him. Once again, everyone was staring at him as Optimus' helped him sit back down.

Magnus was even staring at him, frown deep. Yet, before he could say anything to question Sentinel's poor health, Cliffjumper skipped in and place a cube of medical energon before the ex-Prime.

“Your medical cube, sir. You missed it due to the meeting. I also made a new appointment with the Autobot Military Clinic next orn, since you keep missing your appointments,” said Cliffjumper, loudly and purposefully and _oh he was going to kill him_.

Magnus caught on immediately, his words purposive. “Sentinel Minor, you should have said something if you needed more medical grade. It is important that you mind your health. So please make sure you show up to your appointments.”

Frowning, his glare biting into a smug Cliffjumper's form, he turned his attention to Ultra Magnus and murmured, “Of course, sir. I'm so _grateful_ Cliffjumper remembers for me.”

Nodding, the rest of the mechs now exiting, Magnus stood there long enough to watch Sentinel open his medical energon and take a sip. He gagged on it slightly, but managed to finish it with a mumble of, “Disgusting.”

Magnus nodded and clapped the sitting mech on the shoulder, adding, “If you do not feel well tonight, please feel free to leave early. And do make sure you go to that appointment. You do not look well Sentinel.”

Nodding bitterly, glare burrowing into Cliffjumper's armor, Sentinel mumbled, “Of course, sir.”

“Good to hear,” added the taller mech as he walked away, Optimus and Jazz standing at the door waiting patiently for Sentinel.

“You will pay for this,” mumbled Sentinel softly as he collected his files, Cliffjumper leaning over to assist him. He would have got up then and there, but he was waiting for the energon to settle in his systems. He basically was trapped.

Cliffjumper, pretending to grab a file, but instead placed a hand on Sentinel's wrist, checking the electric flow in his body much like a human would check a pulse. His words were biting as he gathered the last of the files together for Sentinel. “Well, maybe if you had willingly made an appointment with a proper medic, I wouldn't have had to use trickery. You are looking worse and worse Sentinel. You spark pulse also seems weak. You will go to that appointment or I will drop a hint around the right pair of audios that you didn't.”

Frowning, finally getting to his feet, he resisted the urge to act against his assistance. Cliffjumper … never questioned his personal life. For that alone, he would do nothing. _Right now_. It didn't stop him from stomping off towards the exit, Optimus and Jazz giving Cliffjumper a look.

Shrugging, the red mech mumbled, “What can I say. He hates taking his meds.”

Watching the mechs walk away, Cliffjumper sagged slightly. He hadn't wanted to basically blackmail his superior into going to a proper medic, but after seeing how much pain Sentinel was in that afternoon … he decided enough was enough. He was not going to allow that butcher, this private medic, to have one more session with Sentinel Minor.

Not one.

If he ever found out the medic's name, he would ruin him.

Either way, Sentinel was now going to a real medic even if it earned him his superior's ire for a few orns. If Sentinel couldn't help himself, Cliffjumper would do it for him. Besides, he deserved it after abandoning him upon their meeting. He still didn't know why Ultra Magnus hadn't fired him on the spot.

…

“So much information,” mumbled Jazz as he collapsed behind his pile of digi-pads. It felt like they had been going through files for groons. “Anyone else find anything?”

Optimus, across the table, merely hummed a response.

Sentinel said nothing, causing Jazz to look up and promptly snicker. The Minor looked ready to fall asleep.

“Yo, you going to make it SM?” asked Jazz, causing the mech to sit up with a start. “How about some energon?”

Shaking his helm, trying to perk up, he unknowingly said, “Sure.”

He kept nodding and nodding as he browsed through the next files though, recharge trying to take him. He wasn't sure how long Jazz had been gone or when Optimus had sat down next to him, but he was almost too tired to care. He really did hate Jazz right now, but at least he was suffering with him. Most of this stuff was useless documentation about downed Decepticon ships on unexplored moons and old space rumors that no one ever followed up on.

It was useless information dragged in from the dregs of space and stored in a storage room that no one cared about until it was broken into.

This was going to take forever.

Despite himself … his head tilted a little further down.

Meanwhile, Optimus honestly couldn't lie … this was kind of exciting. There were so many files about the ancient war, rumors so old that they seemed to fall into the range of fairy tale. Most of it would be considered useless given how old the files were, but apparently something was important enough that somebot wanted to hide it.

Looking at the list of departing ships in the beginning of ancient war, he noticed that there was a small error. A single inconsistency. The word used predated the document. It was slang created about sixty vorns ago and was only recently was considered a proper verb about twenty vorns ago. The document was vorns too old for the word. Most young bots wouldn't notice. Frag, even someone like Ratchet might not notice at first glance, but he was a history buff and something like that would be considered a huge inconsistency.

“Hey, Sentinel. Look … at … this!” Optimus' words died in his throat though as he turned his head to his left and looked at the mech next to him. The blue Minor's optics were offline and he was dozing, his form shifting to and fro until he was suddenly leaning against Optimus' shoulder.

Optimus' spark jumped in appeasement just from being close to the blue Communication's Officer. Frag, he wanted him so bad he couldn't even express it. He just knew that … Sentinel would never want him.

“You'll never know until you ask him,” came a voice in reply, Jazz suddenly popping up on Optimus' right side making the mech jump slightly.

Swallowing, giving Jazz's coy smile an annoyed glare, the Prime mumbled, “Ask who? What?”

Giving the Prime a disappointed look, Jazz waggled his finger. “Now Optimus, do I look stupid? The moment he touched your hand in the meeting and just now when he touched your shoulder … you looked like the happiest mech in the world. Optimus, ask him.”

Frowning deeply, hating how right Jazz was, Optimus murmured, “He's recharging right now. You saw how … bad … he was today. I didn't even know he was in pain.”

Jazz's smile did falter slightly at that, the visored mech shrugging, “Yeah, well. A fall like that. I doubt you recover easily, but I'll hit old CJ up for information as soon as I am able. But … just ask him before he finds someone else. You don’t want to miss your chance, do you?”

Shoulder’s dipping slightly, Optimus shook his head, the young mech almost whispering, “I don’t want to frag it up though. I feel like one false move and he’ll hate me even more. I don’t even know where to start. I just … I don’t want to frag this up.”

Nodding, noting that Sentinel did know how to hold a grudge, Jazz patted the other on the back. “Well, how about old Jazz trail him for a few days for you? Maybe I can scar something up like his favorite dinner or something. Then we can make it look like an accidental meeting. As easy as it is to find him at work, I wouldn’t recommend it. He’s all about the work when my man's here. No amount of shameless flirting and fawning is going to make it through Sentinel's work-face.”

Optimus nodded in agreement, feeling his spark flutter as Sentinel leaned a little more on him. Then, thinking about it, he asked, “Not that I’m not thankful for the help Jazz, but why help me?”

Smiling wickedly, Jazz admitted, “Because you are borderline pathetic when you’re crushing OP, no offense. Also, I was figuring, that if you can get back into his good graces, maybe I can as well. I don’t regret bringing the hammer to you, I never will. It saved Earth and probably kept Prowl from completely deactivating.”

Optimus frowned at the ninja-bot's softening words, but merely nodded for the older mech to continue.

“It didn’t … I didn’t mean to push Sentinel away though. I knew he was still crashing from Soundwave's torture. It was cruel of me. And he might be tough and chewy around the edges, but he’s also kind of needy like an irritating bratty little brother. I wanted to smack him in the back of the head, repeatedly, but I never once felt he wouldn’t have my back in a battle,” admitted Jazz. “Nowadays, when I see him in the hall, it’s like he grew up too fast and is just keeping his helm above water. I don’t like seeing him worn out and breaking down. I want him to talk to me again, to confine in me. I want him to silently be in awe of my skills and yet deny it just as quickly. I miss the irritating jerk. So do the jet twins. They are afraid he’s mad at them as well.”

Sighing through his vents, Jazz finally added, “Well, what I'm saying OP is that … I want you to put in the good word for me, will you? I want jerk-face back. He might have been a pain in the skids, but he was my pain in the skids.”

Optimus chuckled softly at that before nodding, “Deal. Now, tell me what you think about this file. Is it just me, or does it look altered?”

…

A few groons after the initial drama of the day, darkness falling over most of Cybertron, Ratchet found himself standing over Sari. She was now asleep in his berth. She probably hated the hard surface. Cybertron wasn't exactly know for its textiles after all. He would have to make a trip to Earth and grab the last of her things. At least she had one of her blankets. She was hugging the thing like a doll right now, but at least she was still sleeping. It gave him time to think.

Closing the door behind him, Ratchet's vents stuttered. What was he going to do with her? Today had been awful. She had to act up in front of the youngling caretaker and the mental health investigator from Autobot headquarters. He didn't know why they hadn't been taken Sari from him on the spot. He couldn't lose her and Reboot. It would crush him.

Thankfully, neither representative seemed to blame him for Sari's outburst. They merely allowed him to put her too bed and then the real stress began. He hated paperwork. It took forever, and Rung made him want to second guess everything he said during the evaluation. He felt like the fragger had been marking up points, reasons, to say he wouldn't be an acceptable caretaker.

And then there was the request again for him to make a medical chart for Sari. It had to be approved by a medic that wasn't _him_. There was no way around it. And then there was the question of creating a caretaker bond. Could Sari even form one, and what of Reboot?

Sighing, thinking it was high time for some high grade and some of the cy-gars that he kept hidden on the top cupboard, Ratchet didn't even make it halfway across the habitation suite when there was a small ring at the front door. Tightening in the shoulders, worried that Sari was going to rise and start panicking again, Ratchet rushed to the front door, almost barking, “Optimus, it was an emergency groons … ago.”

His words failed him. Generally, only worry-bots like Optimus would visit him at this time of night. Not complete strangers.

Well, mostly complete strangers. It was the security bot, the blue one, from earlier today.

Staring a moment more at each other, the blue mech seemed to realize what was wrong and promptly introduced myself, “Oh, oh. Sorry. Forgot to introduce myself. The names Wavelength. We met earlier.”

The mech then offered a hand out to Ratchet so that they could clasp at the wrist in greeting. When Ratchet just continued to stare at him, the mech vented and pulled back his hand. “So … are you going to invite me in?”

Frowning now, crossing his arms over his chest, Ratchet blatantly asked, “And why the frag would I do that? Its the middle of the night and you are a complete stranger. I have a young-bot to look after. I ain't letting a complete stranger into my house.”

Coughing his vents again, seeming even more nervous, the mech looked over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck before he looked Ratchet in the optic. “That's why I'm here. About the young femme. I'm guessing she came from off world, right? She obviously never really spent any time in the care centers either, correct?”

Not liking where this was going, Ratchet bristled, “What are you getting at? Are you threatening me?”

Waving his hands in front of him, shaking is head, the blue mech finally sighed, leaning in to whisper, “I-I couldn't help but notice her wing nubs when I was rubbing her back. Most mechs would think they are going to be door wings, but I … know better. She has Decepticon coding, doesn't she?”

Ratchet had to catch himself, his spark skipping. He then turned his head to and fro to see if anyone was listening. Of course there wasn't, the neighborhood was dark for the most part. Stepping into the door, he invited the other mech in with a curt nod. Swallowing, closing the door behind him as he offered the mech a cube, Ratchet tried to think of an excuse. They were wing nubs. Unfortunately, that is a Con trait. Yes, the Allspark gave them to her, but there hadn't been an Allspark created mech or femme in generations. There just weren't winged Autobots … except for the twins. Poor kids. Then, somehow, they became pawns for the Autobot Guard. They never got a childhood and were glitched likely from the lack of emotional care.

They never found the fragger that abandoned them to die in an alley.

Giving the mech a cube while sitting down across from him at the table, Ratchet's words were soft as he glanced at his berthroom door, “What do you want … for you silence?”

The mech nearly spit out his energon. He quickly put down his cube and surprisingly put a hand on top of Ratchet's, his words soft, “No, no, no. You misunderstand. I … I want to help you. I didn't come to hurt you or that little femme.”

Drawing back slightly in suprise, the blue hand keeping him awkwardly seated, Wavelength added, “First off, I'm glad that you took her in, even though she has Con in here. Most kids, like my carrier, were left to rot on the streets. I would have too if my carrier hadn't found someone to make some … alterations to my form and records.”

A sinking feeling was forming in Ratchet's gut, especially when the met reached up and took off his visor, revealing one stunning blue optic … and the other red. He was obviously a half-breed. The mech blinked a few times, before he added, “I couldn't help but overhear some of the things the care center femme was saying, about needing proper documentation for the bonding and the little femme's health records. You and I both know that if a normal medic gets a hold of her, she either become ostracized as some kind of half-breed or she'll just have enough Decepticon coding in her to be taken away by the Autobot Guard. No one will ever see her again.”

Ratchet swallowed, part of him admitting that was a true, but he said nothing.

“Well, what I wanted to say was … I know a mech that can help you. Some call him a _butcher_ , and maybe its true, but a lot of couples have sparkling with nubs or red optics or ingrained weapons upon birth. Problems, you know. He's the only one in the area that will _deal_ with the problem,” said the mech carefully, hoping his point was getting across.

Oh yeah his point was getting across, loud and clear. This medic he was talking about was a butcher. He was disfiguring sparklings by cutting off nubs, breaking out optics and removing vital coding. He probably did abortions and Primus knows what else. And yet, he couldn't find himself to be mad. H-how had he never known that there were half-breeds like this on Cybertron disfiguring themselves willingly just to stay on the planet.

Swallowing, his vocals resetting yet still staticy, Ratchet murmured, “T-there's nothing wrong with Sari.”

The blue mech smiled at that, a genuine smile. He look Ratchet's smaller hand into both of his larger ones and held them for a moment. Ratchet almost blushed at the attention as the mech stated, “You are right. She is beautiful. She will be a beautiful femme, but just in case something pops up or you need something tweaked, take this card. His name is Breakdown. He will take care of you.”

Ratchet, almost too sick to do much else, accept the digital little card, part of him almost horrified when he realized that all his needs had just been met. He could get triple-changer code, a fake carrier-bond verification and even door wing covers if need be. Maybe even an imager to give Sari a metallic face.

He just had to make a deal with a butcher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My loves! I'm sorry its been so long. Too much stress and poor Sentinel's tale of woe fell to the way side. Hopefully you won't have to wait that long again for an update. Sorry if the chapter was a little dry, but I think it turned out well regardless.


	28. Terrible Underlings

Low Tones bit her metallic lip and dialed the comm number again, wringing her small hands together.

Today was not her day.

She was a small femme with yellow and light blue armor, the two pastels blending nicely. She was a young femme, still trying to finish school and get an apprenticeship. She lived on the sub level, near the apartment’s service systems. Her creator got her a discount with his old family connections. Well, the whole village’s connections really. She came from the country, one of the smaller colonies on a moon the Autobot Commonwealth barely paid attention to. Her sire was the town mayor and elder. It had been hard and taxing to get her onto Cybertron and into an Autobot Academy, but they had pulled it off. She wanted to be a medic and bring some more skills to her small home-moon. It was still tight financially though to pay everything. Luckily, her answer came in the form of an overstressed blue mech that had been trying to sooth his crying sparkling and carry all his supplies up the stairs, the elevator out.

That had been nearly a vorn and a half ago. Apparently, his name was Sentinel Minor. He had been surprised when she didn’t know who he was and promptly offered her a sparkling-sitting job. She had jumped on it and ever sense then they had been beneficial to each other. She could sit there, studying in her small subterranean basement apartment, watching Sentinel’s creation giggle and play with minimal interruptions. She always had enough time to study and enough extra sparkling-sitting credits to make ends meet.

Overall, Echo was a good kid. Always so quiet despite his reoccurring night terrors. He was sickly though. Oh Primus, he was sickly and so was Sentinel it seemed. Perhaps it was genetic? She had tried to pry a few times, even asked her medical professors about the symptoms she noticed. She wasn’t experienced enough though to even know what she was witnessing. She wasn’t even an apprentice anywhere yet so she couldn't even ask a mentor.

Sonic Trip might know, but she wasn’t going to tell anyone. Not that she was really around anymore to ask given that she was now in Autobot boot camp.

Either way, she did not once regret helping Sentinel up the stairs, his weld marks still fresh and sore looking, a limp evident. In fact, no one in the apartment minded helping the blue mech with his sparkling if only for Sentinel’s sake. He was a single creator after all and overstressed … no partner in sight. The rumor around the complex was that, after he biffed it as Magnus, that his mate abandoned him and the sparkling. Cold fragger. How could they?

Nonetheless, Sentinel seemed to accept his lot in life almost gracefully. He even employed one of the retired mechs in the building, Codebreaker, to be his son’s teacher and tutor. Codebreaker just fawned over that youngling. He acted like a proud grand-sire half of the time.

So, she liked Sentinel despite his exhausted brooding.

Well, usually. Not today. No, today she was panicky. Yesterday afternoon, Sentinel had dropped Echo off, stating he would be back late tonight. At most, early tomorrow morning. Not at all odd, he was head of the communications department after all.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t back yet. She couldn’t even get ahold of him on his personal comm.

And today was an important day for her. She was taking the test that would see if she was ready for an apprenticeship. She needed to be there and she couldn’t take a youngling in his first upgrade with her. Echo was well behaved, yes, but even his patience would be tried with a test that took groons to finish.

Wringing her hands together again, her optics drifted over to Sentinel’s private office. Perhaps there were other numbers to call.

…

Cliffjumper glared at the beeping light. He had been getting incoming comms and transmissions all morning from various departments about yesterday’s break in. He hadn’t work this hard since Sentinel’s fall.

Frowning at the blinking light, wondering if he could just ignore it given it was an unidentified caller, he sighed in resignation. What if it was someone important? This was the third time he had gotten a call from this number this morning. If this just turned out to be Mirage with more spam though, he was going to punch the rich-bot in the face next time he saw him!

Fragger would probably just turn invisible though, and he would miss before he blue bot reappeared with a coy grin on his face.

Ugh, he hated that coy grin of Mirage’s.

Cliffjumper sighed at the thought and looked at the medical grade on his desk. Sentinel would need another cube soon. Maybe he could use it as an excuse to get away from his desk. Sentinel had stayed in the offices all night apparently, and he hadn't been happy to be awoken with a cube of medical grade energon. Sentinel should have gone home. He still looked sick and pained.

He was so much different from the mech he was nearly two vorns ago. He hadn’t come back cocky. He came back _broken_. Even after he got out of the hoover chair, his legs would shake if one looked carefully, which no one had. Not even Cliffjumper had paid much attention at first. Now … now he saw everything. Every sharp intake and shaking servo. The chest pains.

Whatever those back-water half-breeds from Docker City had done, they did it wrong. Something was wrong and something was going to give out. He could just feel it in the way that Sentinel acted and moved. It was like he was resigning himself to the pain and suffering. Like the young mech was just giving up.

Shaking off the thoughts, his mind basically counting down the time until Sentinel’s medical appointment (medical leave files partially filled out already), Cliffjumper decided to answer the unknown comm link. If it was Mirage, he would just take some of his pent up frustrations out on the taller mech.

Grinding his denta, the assistant opened the line to take the live feed, just waiting for Mirage’s smug face to appear on the screen. “Communication. Sentinel Minor’s office. This is Cliffjumper, may I take a message.”

There was silence on the other side for a moment before a feminine voice echoed over the line, a light blue and pink face popping up on the screen. She was pretty, but too young to even be a recruit. “Communications? Finally, I’ve been trying to get a hold of Sentinel’s office _forever_. I’ve tried calling his private comm link for hours now, but I still haven’t gotten a reply. I found this number after digging around in his apartment for a few groons. I need to talk to him.”

The secretary started, surprised. W-was this a one-night stand or something? Why else would she be in his apartment? She was pretty, and apparently Sentinel had been quite a ladies mech at one point, but Sentinel was entirely too boring for that now. Right? Well, a mech had needs he supposed.

Waving off the thoughts of his superior with such a pretty young femme, Cliffjumper professionally stated, “I’m sorry miss –”,

“Low Tones.”

“-this is not a line for private calls. If this is something personal, I recommend using his personal comm. Good bye-”

“No! No! Don’t hang up,” she begged, her desperation flowing out of her like word vomit. “I can’t watch Echo any longer. Sentinel said he would be back late last night, or at worst this morning. He said he would take a sick afternoon if he had too. I need to take my entrance exam in a groon. I’ve been studying for a vorn to take this exam. I have taken Echo a few times to class when everyone was tied up and most of the professors don’t mind, but I can’t take him to class today. This professor is really up tight even if the little dear is so quiet and proper like his dad… sad too…,” there was a moment of silence, the red mech confused as the femme seemed to stall and think before returning to her rant, “but that’s not the point. I can’t take him to an entrance exam. Sentinel said he would be back home long before now. He needs to come home.”

The red mech frowned. After giving him his morning energon, Sentinel had been immediately called into a meeting. Apparently the Minor had been trying to squirm out of the meeting all day, but Magnus had put his big metal foot down, stating that if he was ill he was going to one of the on site medics, not home. Sentinel had went silent after that, no longer stating he was feeling unwell. Not that anyone believed him. Jazz had sent more than one ping inquiring about his superior’s health to Cliffjumper.

Not that he knew slag.

Cliffjumper frowned deeply. He knew he should be suspicious of Jazz’s sudden curiosity, but decided to worry about that later. He had a femme to deal with. Frag, it was taking every ounce of professionalism in him to not ask if she was Sentinel’s frag partner.

“Sorry miss, but he is in a meeting with the Magnus. That’s probably why he cannot respond to your personal comms. He should be out in a few groons,” Cliffjumper said bitterly, suddenly realizing something. She had said ‘professors’. Slag, how young was this femme? She was too young. Maybe of age, but too young for Sentinel to be taking advantage of. Not that he knew for sure … but why else would she be in his apartment?

And who was this Echo person?

“What?! I have to go though. I know he’s helped me get those scholarships with his recommendation letters, but that is all meaningless if I can’t take that entrance exam. I love him for always tipping me extra for sparkling sitting, even though I know it can be tight for him being a single creator, but I need to go.”

The femme’s rambling carried on for a few more klicks until she suddenly stopped and eyed the confused Cliffjumper, hope in her optics as she whispered, “You’re his secretary, right?”

“ _Assistant_ , miss, and what do you mean by single creator?” said the red mech, optics going wide.

“Assistant, secretary. Same thing. You take care of his things. Now, I’ll be by in less than a groon. I’ll bring Echo’s school books so he can study. He’s a good kid. Very quiet,” she said as she started running around in the background in a room that suspiciously looked like it was from Sentinel’s flat. “I’ll be by in a bit. Bye!”

And there Cliffjumper sat, confusion written all over his face as he looked at the number. Wait? Why was that an unidentified number? Frag, that was the phone line for Sentinel’s private flat, wasn’t it? No, no. That call sounded more like a panicked sparkling sitter, but Sentinel had no children. Right? He didn’t even have a mate. Right?! Yeah, yeah. He didn’t. The femme was probably just confused. She must have been looking for another Sentinel. Yeah, that was it.

His hopes were dashed though when a light blue and yellow femme nearly fell over his desk a few cycles later, her arms burden with a few different bags. He was about to protest, ready to call her a mad femme and then security, but she silence him by throwing a bag at him. It was seemingly filled with a few toys and other miscellaneous sparkling items. She then walked around the table, a small sparkling holding her hand. That shut him up completely. The sparkling … _looked like Sentinel_. He was a little more delicate in the waist and shoulders, the chin absent for the time being, but his ear fins were the same and his blue coloring was unmistakable even with the soft greys that fell into the color scheme.

“Again, sorry, sorry, sorry, for putting this on you, but I need to make that test and Codebreaker, his tutor, was nowhere to be found. Everyone else in the apartment complex seemed to be at work as well. I couldn’t find any of his regular watchers. Regardless, that bag has some light grade energon and treats for him if he gets hungry. It also has as some drawing stuff and some digi-pads if he gets bored. He’ll be quiet though. He’s always so quiet and well behaved. Half the tenants didn’t even know he existed until I started taking him for walks when Sentinel Prime-Magnus I mean _Minor_ was at work.”

Cliffjumper didn’t even know how to react as the femme patted the little blue helm before she knelt down and kissed him on the forehead, stating, “Be good for Cliffjumper. Be quiet and don’t distract the good military bots. Your daddy is in a meeting with our Commonwealth's wonderful Magnus.”

Patting the small helm again she asked, “And who is the current Magnus?”

“Ultra Magnus,” the small mech stated.

“Very good. Your current government test is next week with your tutor, so if you have time, study that. Mister Cliffjumper will probably help you if you need help, right?” she said pointedly, staring at the utterly confused mech.

Not knowing what else to do, Cliffjumper nodded.

“Great, see you later little trooper and you,” she pointed at the red mech, placing her hands together in an apologetic manner, bowing slightly. “Tell Sentinel _sorry_. I know he thinks it’s too dangerous for Echo to be in the fortress, but I mean really … Megatron has been captured. How dangerous can it be? Regardless, I know he told me never to bring him here, but none of the other tenants are home to take him, and I need to go. Thank you _sooooo_ much. I’ll buy you energon or something if Sentinel jumps your aft to hard. Bye!”

She was then gone as quickly as she came, running pass a confused looking Bluestreak. The mech then walked forward and just stared with Cliffjumper and the Sentinel mini-me. Not liking the glances of horror and uncontained curiosity he was getting, Echo could barely whisper, “C-can I have my pack? I need to study.”

Nodding, Cliffjumper handed it to the youngling and gave Bluestreak, reluctantly, a begging look as he sent a private comm, = _I have no idea how to take care of a sparkling_.=

= _And you think I do? I was an only child. And he’s a youngling, by the way, given he’s in his first upgrades. He’s probably near his second or third vorn actually,_ = corrected the grey mech.

= _That doesn’t make it better! T-this is … what is going on?! What just happened? I’m not cut out for kids and apparently I’m a terrible secretary! I only caught half of what the femme was rambling, but there is no way this is happening!_ =

=Assistant,= corrected the other mech for him.

= _Regardless, how did I not know that my own boss has a kid? Frag. Am I so unobservant? I thought that Shockwave was a fluke since he was a spy, but now I am starting to wonder if I’m even cut out to be an Autobot,_ = he wailed over the comm, nearly making the younger communications officer cringe back.

= _Hey, hey. Calm down Cliffjumper. You know no one blames you for that. And what do you mean by 'your boss'. Sentinel doesn’t have a kid … Does he?_ =

Cliffjumper waved towards Echo, basically telling Bluestreak to stare some more. It was then, staring closer at the small blue mech (whom was leaning against the wall with a digi-pad nearly hiding his face so he wouldn’t have to look at the two older mechs) that the grey mech understood Cliffjumper’s distress, = _Okay, he really, really, really looks like Sentinel, but there is no way. He doesn’t have a kid. An officer as high as him … everyone would know._ =

= _Apparently everyone doesn’t know. It has to be his kid. The pretty little femme, Low Tone, used all three of his names,=_ sarcastically replied the angry mech.

Blinking his optics off and on, only one thing came to Bluestreak’s mind, = _Dang, we are terrible underlings. If I made this kind of mistake on the field, I would be sent back to boot camp. This isn’t a test, is it? I know I’m new, but this is kind of mean Cliffjumper._ =

Cliffjumper rolled his optics. = _This isn’t a test. I still can’t believe Sentinel reproduced and the femme let him keep the kid._ =

Bluestreak frowned as he walked around the desk, watching Cliffjumper type away at his desk like a mad mech. He was looking for files on his boss to see if his life insurance records noted a dependent, or if there was some footnote like an offline mate.

Frowning, rubbing the back of his helm, Bluestreak dared ask, = _Are you sure he wasn’t the carrier?_ =

= _Pff, unlikely. Didn’t you overhear? She called him a single creator? I doubt he would have carrier a sparkling to full term if he was alone in the beginning,_ = said Cliffjumper, both of them stalling to give Echo a sympathic look.

Echo just tried to ignore them and pay more attention to his digi-pad. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. He just hoped nothing bad happened because of it.

…

Bumblebee slammed on the gas, growing even more frustrated. Ratchet’s message about Sari’s creator had gotten to him and Bulkhead when they were in the middle of repairing a space bridge. They had wanted to come back _immediately_ , but the captain of the Jackhammer wouldn’t hear of it. Fragger. It was a family emergency! Bumblebee knew that activating space bridges in Megatron’s old territory were important to trying and create peace with the non-commonwealth Cybertronain city-states, but did they really have to wait through the repair of the space bridge?

Luckily, after seeing how bothered the two mechs were, Runner had allowed the two to use the space bridge they just fixed. Bumblebee had even called ahead to see how Sari was taking her creator's … deactivation.

Ratchet, the fragger, had sent him to Earth first to collect her belongings. To help her settle apparently.

Really? He needed to see her. Not her plushy collection.

Slamming on his breaks in front of Sumdac Tower, part of him surprised it hadn’t already been renamed already with how quickly humans changed things, Bumblebee transformed. Half of the humans in the vicinity jumped and yelped in surprise, most gaping like fools from behind holo-glasses. Frowning, wanting to snap at all the humans for staring like none of them had ever seen a bot before, stalled his glossa when he recalled: none of them had.

It had been almost two vorns since they awoke and introduced themselves to the city of Detroit. To a human … that was two lifetimes. Everyone that he had ever met in this city … was gone.

Frowning, his spark suddenly feeling even worse for not minding Sari nor her father more, he almost jumped out of his own armor when a middle aged, scruffy, scientist looking dude came out of the tower to greet them.

“Wow, that was quite an entrance,” said the human, his dark brown hair slightly unkempt unlike most of the people on the streets. Really, some of that hair was gravity defying. Sari had once tried to explain the complexities of human hair and their social implications, but he had grown bored a few klicks in.

“I take it you are Bumblebee,” said the human, strangely acting quite civilized unlike most of the corporate dogs the young-bot was used to seeing from Sumdac’s business.

There was a transformation sequence and suddenly Bulkhead was next to him, claw outstretched, “And I’m Bulkhead. Who are you?”

Only slightly wary, the man reached a hand forward, shaking the claw carefully. Then, smiling as warmly as his weariness would allow, the man stated, “I am Cade Yeager and I am apparently the new owner of Sundac Industries. It was … it was quite a surprise. Let me tell you. I thought I was just a no name inventor for the company, and then Sundac’s will was read so now I’m here. I know he liked chatting with me and Sari thought I was funny in an eccentric way, but I didn’t know he liked me that much.”

Frowning, but making no mention of Sundac’s choices, the human continued, “Sorry about Isaac. He was a good man.”

There was moment of silence, Bulkhead nodding.

Not knowing what else to say, the man continued, “I take it you are here for Sari’s things. She didn't leave with much except the clothes on her back.”

“Of course, unless you threw them away already,” barked Bumblebee, part of him already thinking that this man was no different than Porter C. Powell. The list was short of humans he actually would run over in a dark alley, but Porter was on that list … well, _was_.

Humans were so frail.

He as so glad that Sari wasn’t _really_ human.

Yeager immediately cringed away from the hostile tone, still overwhelmed that he was talking with an actual extraterrestrial. Even though the Autobot-Decepticon War had nearly ripped the city apart a 160 years ago, that didn’t mean that Earth had become all gun-ho for space exploration. In fact, if anything, the interactions with the Cybertronians had stunted the young race’s want for exploration. Instead, Earth had tried to become a lot of self-sustaining while looking for ways to stay out of the limelight of the bigger, badder, and older species in the universe.

If the Autobots stopped to actually pay attention to the small planet’s politics they would know that … Earth was now afraid of them.

It took all of Yeager’s self-control to remain passive and rooted. He did not want to start a war with the Autobots. Earth was young when it came to the space race. They could not afford a war with these metallic beings. Luckily, as if noticing the inventor’s slowly growing anxiety, Bulkhead pushed Bee aside slight, stating, “Don’t mind him. He’s just … upset. Is everything still in her room or what?”

Still eyeing the fuming yellow bot wearily, Yeager tried to regain a strained smile, “Well, I didn't touch it. Just in case she wanted to come back. She is always welcome back as long as I'm here. I will take you to her room to grab some things if she needs them though.”

Bulkhead nodded, just glad he could fit into the doors and surprisingly into the elevator. Ratchet had visited a few times, so he could only presume it was foresight on Sumdac’s part.

Unfortunately, the ride up the elevator felt painfully slow. The elevator music was seemingly the same tune that had played 160 years ago. It was awkward and confined to say the least.

The poor human nearly fled out the doors when they finally opened, Bumblebee all but stomping after. Bulkhead merely squirmed out, stalling with a sigh when he saw that Sari’s door was only Bumblebee sized. He liked Earth in some ways … and other’s he did not. Well, at least he got to ride the elevator up. It seemed that Bee would be doing all the packing though.

Stalling in front of the door, a decorative holo-plaque stating 'Sari' still on the surface, the brunette man smiled awkwardly and waved his hand over the keypad in order to open the door.

It didn’t even blink. It was supposed to blink even if it rejected someone’s bio-scan.

Bumblebee started tapping his foot impatiently, his youthful voice raising on octane. “We are waiting here.”

Smiling nervously, missing the pointed glare Bulkhead threw in Bumblebee’s direction, the human waved his hand over the scanner again.

Nothing.

Smiling back once more as his nervousness grew, the words _horrible-alien-war-created-over-idiot-inventor-that-was-unable-to-open-a-door_ echoing in his head, Yeager finally took out a screwdriver and forced the scanner open. He then manually crossed two wires, the door swooshing open. The human quickly stepped in, waving his arms in a show of the room.

“See, everything’s where Sari left it. Even her dirty socks … _Please don’t start a robot war_ ,” tried to joke the inventor … only to have Bumblebee’s stingers point at him.

Fuck.

Yet, before Yeager could even imagine seeing the words _idiot-inventor_ float over every holo-paper in America, the yellow transformer yelled, “Get out of the way, science-man, there’s someone behind you!”

Yeager, jumping out of the way, turned his head in time to see the smaller yellow mech rush forward and to … _a shadow_ … that was standing over a desk, a small IPad 3XPi in its _horrible rotting corpse_ hand. W-was that his dead father? No, no … that isn’t right. Was it actually metal and rusting? What was that thing?!

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” seemed to ask Bumblebee, mirroring the human’s thoughts. The shadow merely turned his head, slowly, deliberately, as if marginally annoyed but nowhere near threatened by Bumblebee. If anything, its purple mist like optics seemed to roll in slight irritation.

“Don’t roll your creepy optics at me, buddy,” groused Bumblebee. “W-what do you have there? Give it to me.”

The shadow figure, roughly the size of Prowl if one wanted to be specific, looked at the IPad in his hand. Then, as if smiling, he purposely started too pressed down one finger on the thin device, the glass squealing for a moment before it started to crack. Yet, before it could shatter to pieces, Bumblebee was suddenly running forward, electricity jumping across the room.

The shadow figure nimble side stepped, electricity suddenly exploding a floating alarm clock, sparkly glittery yellow plastic going everywhere.

The figure then chuckled deeply as he threw the IPad into the air, the yellow bot meeting him head on, stingers going for his gut. The shadow merely slid his forearm guard forward just in time to redirect the nasty stab. Bee's stingers hit Sari’s bed instead, feathers going everywhere. The shadow then gracefully sidestepped Bee's punch and grabbed the youngling by the same arm, flipping him over like a sack of potatoes. Finishing his display, the shadow then neatly caught the I-Pad before it hit the ground, chuckling darkly like this was little more than a game.

Bumblebee, coughing feathers out of his vents, watched in horror as slim and quick clawed digits few over the IPad, a request for delete all files reflecting above the small device.

“Oh no, you don’t!” cried Bee, kicking out with a sliding movement that would have made Prowl proud. He didn’t know when he had started to actually pay attention to his hand to hand combat, but the young mech could only guess that it had something to do with Jazz’s time with them on Earth … and the deep regret he had about Prowl.

He honestly couldn’t even visit the older mech in the long term care center. It made his spark feel sick and tight in its casing. Maybe if he had screwed around less, trained harder, listened better or learned a little more servo-fu … Prowl might be more than a still body in a berth. He was alive, Jazz could attest to that, but comatose. It could be vorns until his spark recovered enough to have the strength to run his systems … if ever.

Bumblebee never wanted to feel that helpless again. That’s why he wandered around with Bulkhead and his space bridge maintenance instead of allowing Optimus to place him somewhere. Anything was better than a reminder than he had been useless as an Autobot!

“Don’t mock me!” growled out Bee uncharacteristically as the mech jumped over his foot. The shadow mech even laughed like it was a simple game of jump rope. Bee, anger flaring in his young spark, rolled onto his back and then used his legs like a springboard, his two peds hitting a metallic chassis, the sound of cracking glass filling the room.

Score! At least the mech wasn’t all creepy whisking shadows. He had some kind of form.

Yet, just when Bee finally got to his feet, a smirk on his lips at his good hit, he stalled. There, on the floor halfway draped tween a chair and knocked over bookshelf, wasn’t a shadowed form anymore. It was a _Prowl_ … ripped up, broken, bleeding, optic burnt-out Prowl. He was even touching energon on his cracked chassis glass, his gaze accusing.

“Bumblebee … w-why? Haven't I given enough?” suddenly said Prowl, energon dribbling out of the side of his mouth.

Shaken to his core, his systems whirling about as he tired to find something to say, he Bumblebee choked, “P-prowl, but you're … you're on Cybertron. In a berth.”

“Yes, in a berth! Why was I punished like that? Why do you get to live a life of your choosing while I rust there! All because you weren't strong enough! I had to make the hard choices. Not you. You did nothing but play around! I had to sacrifice myself!” Prowl was now staggering to his feet, little rust flakes seeming to float to the floor along with a small dribble of energon.

 _Purple_ energon.

“No, no. Prowl, it wasn't like that,” choked Bumblebee, his servos starting to shake. Not because of the gore or the horror, but because Prowl was now giving voice to all of his insecurities. Ratchet had tried to talk to him about it a few times after Bumblebee once told him he felt responsible, but he couldn't stand how soft the medic's voice was or how kind his touch had been upon his shoulder. They had even wanted him to speak with the mental health specialist at Autobot headquarters. When a mech named Rung had requested a meeting with him about his mourning process, it had been too much.

Bulkhead had been the only one who he hadn't felt guilty towards. So he, admittedly, followed after Bulkhead like a lost puppy. Hoping to loose himself to the stars.

Sari was the only one that made him want to leave his self exclusion.

“Wasn't it? You won't even visit me,” bit out Prowl as he stood up, shadows seeming to drip from his form.

“I'm sorry. I just … I just-”

“You don't even care. Do you? You are just glad that it wasn't you, aren't you? Aren't you?!” growled Prowl, his tone getting darker and darker and so very unlike the ninja-bots usual tone. Bumblebee couldn't see past that though. He couldn't see past one of his life's heaviest guilt trips.

“I'm sorry. Please … I just … _I just can't look at you_!” finally cried out Bumblebee, tears starting to gather at the corner of his optics. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It was like a thing had crawled out of his nightmares. For the first time in his entire life … he wanted … _he wanted to hurt himself._

 _'There is a window right there. It is a mighty far fall,'_ seemed to whisper a voice in his head.

Immediately Bee's programs went crazy in his helm, rushing and running around trying to find he source if the destructive code. The overwhelming force of those medical programs actually caused him to stumbled and before he knew it, Prowl was suddenly standing over him his fingers slowly transforming into dagger-like digits. There was also a smile so predatory it seemed like a jagged grin was cutting into the ninja-bot's face.

“Well, you'll never have to look at anything, ever again,” chuckled Prowl, those claws now descending upon a partially crippled Bumblebee as his systems tried to overcome the dark thoughts.

Were those even his thoughts? Did it matter?

_'Maybe it's was for the best.'_

Yet, before the world could go dark, a green wrecking ball was suddenly slamming in through the open door like a godsend. It slammed right into the shadow figure. There was choking noise on the impersonator's part before he was sent flying like a rag doll, dropping the IPad and smashing through a nearby window like it was nothing. Glass raining all about.

Bee, for a moment sat there, surprised. Venting a few times in panic, he tripped to his peds and forward, wearily peaking out of the broken window. There had been no scream of a falling mech and nor the squeal of long nails digging into the skyscraper’s metallic siding. There was nothing … just the sound of trickling glass falling stories down along with the sound of the wind rippling pass curtains.

It, he, whatever it was, the _Shadow_ , was gone. It was almost like he had never been.

“What the frag was that?” whispered Bumblebee as he swallowed thickly and cringed as his systems seemed to quarantine the destructive code from earlier, an alert popping up and stating that he needed to contact a medic as soon as possible. He buried the warning, feeling ashamed. If Ratchet, Optimus, _anyone_ , found out he had had those kind of thoughts during a battle … they would have him in a desk job so fast his helm would spin.

Slowly turning to the human, Bee was about to ask the question again. Unfortunately, Yeager was still on his bum staring at the window in abject horror as if he had just seen a ghost.

Noting that the human looked just as surprised as he was, Bumblebee sighed. He doubted Yeager had an answers. Instead, he turned his attention to the small IPad on the floor. He slowly picked it up, the thin glass thing squealing slightly like it was threatening to crack further and yet stubbornly stayed together. Well, it seemed that the humans were starting to learn the definition of durability. Usually, when he touched any of this pad-thingies, they were broken in a klick.

Staring, his language files coming online, he read the English heading: _Sari’s Dream Dairy_.

Looking back at the window and then down at the small damaged screen, Bumblebee couldn’t help but mumble, “What were you? And why would you want Sari’s dream journal?”

The wind, roaring through the red curtains, had no answer.

…

Elsewhere, far from a yellow bot with too many questions, Sari woke up with a scream. She scared a poor old medic half to deactivation before he was able to gather himself enough to rushed into the berthroom. Then, patting her back, he tried to calm her as she choked on her own tears, her eyes drifting over the sun lit room. She was looking for one specific shadow.

Unicron's shadow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was soooo much longer. Like twice as long. I didn’t expect the Low Tones or Yeager scenes in there … but bam. They are there now. My brain was like, “We needssss this in here. For dramasss.” Apparently my brain has a weird accent. Regardless, next chapter should be soon since its nearly done. Probably next weekend. Enjoy and sorry about the crappy proofread.


	29. What is Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Sentinel let out a tired vent, rubbing the back of his neck. It had been a terrible meeting. Apparently, Optimus’ discovery revealed multiple other edits in other departments and now Records was in complete disarray. Just how long had they had this interloper destroying records? Either way, Magnus had basically had everyone scrambling to find out who this Shadow (as he was now called) was and why he was destroying the records he was.

Personally, Sentinel was just glad to get out of there. He knew Low Tones had some kind of test today. She had been trying to call him, but he just couldn’t take a personal call. Magnus wouldn’t even let him leave for health reasons unless he wanted to end up in the medical ward of the fortress. Yeah, he would rather not. He was still trying to find a way to worm out of Cliffjumper’s little bout of disloyalty. Mirage's company seemed like a significant punishment. Didn’t even matter how. The blue mech could just bring him files a few times a day and Cliffjumper would explode.

Regardless, if he couldn't worm out of that medical appointment, just how was he going to deal with it? Any medic would see the scars on his spark from the spark-flux donations. They would know instantly that Sentinel was a single parent and that he didn’t have a mate to offer a secondary bond to Echo. There was only Sentinel’s spark, and to be stable, usually, a sparkling needed both of their creators to bond with them when they were born … especially a sick sparkling. It was a wonder Echo wasn't deactivated.

In fact, during the Ancient War… too lose one parent meant death to the sparkling.

Of course, now days, they had spark-flux donations from willing mechs and femmes. Yes, the donations were free, but they were also heavily documented by the Autobot clinics. It was also no secret that many single femmes or mechs were _encourage_ to bond again as quickly as possible … for their and their sparkling’s health.

Sentinel … he was fine being alone.

He also didn’t want Echo exposed to that life. He didn’t want his sparkling to be part of the Autobot Guard or its political drama in any shape or form. His little treasure didn’t need to know how his father had disgraced himself during with a breakdown while carrying him. He honestly didn’t want anyone to know of Echo’s existence. He wanted to spare his creation from making the same mistakes he had. He did not want Echo joining the military. He did not want his son to suffer his fate.

He even went so far to hire Codebreaker and a few private tutors to educate his son that weren't affiliated with the Autobot Gaurd. Echo would take the official tests to prove his education, of course, but that was vorns away.

Echo would do well. Sentinel knew his son would. He was still so surprised that Echo was so bright. He was so much smarter than him and for that Sentinel was glad. One day his creation would be able to enter into the science division or something at any Academy in the Autobot Commonwealth. Not just the Autobot Military Academy like him. Echo would be able to go to a nice planet where he would never have to worry about running into a Decepticon.

He would never have to worry about being a _victim_.

The large mech shivered slightly at the thought, but straightened up as he walked towards his office. He just needed to grab a few files and get home. Hopefully, Low Tones wasn’t late to her class. Worst case scenario, she left Echo with Codebreaker or one of the other retirees in the apartment complex.

… But what was going on here?

Sentinel’s frowned as he drew nearer and nearer to his office. There was a small cluster in front of Cliffjumper’s desk … and it seemed to be of the social kind. Just great. He was in pain, he was tired. He did not want to deal with social pleasantries before going home.

And great … it looked like Jazz was there as well.  _Joy._

…

Meanwhile, a little ways down the hall from a grumpy Minor, Jazz couldn’t stop smiling as he asked the youngling another current government question. Those big blue optics would look up at him and stared for a moment as if he was trying to pull the information straight out of Jazz’s mind just by staring at him. Then, ducking his head, not used to all the optics on him, little Echo would move his lips and answer in a nervous voice. It was _adorable_. Pit, the kid was the cutest thing in this office since the pretty femme, Kick-Shot, left. She had retired about half a vorn ago and was now having sparklings of her own. This was the newest cute thing in the offices.

“That’s correct Echo. You are very smart for being so young. Why has your creator not allowed you to go to school yet?” asked Jazz, feeling the need to pry instinctively as the kid ducked his gaze. True, prying was why he had come down here. He wanted to poke and prod at Cliffjumper a bit more about Sentinel’s health … and maybe his favorite place to eat, for Optimus' sake. He had not been expecting _this_. He had had to reset his optics twice when he came down and Cliffjumper, Mirage and Bluestreak were desperately ripping Sentinel’s office apart for something akin to a birth certificate.

Well, they were Intel, so they did so professionally … and so that no one would ever notice, but they turned up little evidence except for a child's drawing inside Sentinel's desk. When that had turned up such little evidence, everyone had turned their piqued curiosity to the biggest clue. A blue youngling in his first upgrade. The little thing had almost started to cry when all the optics became directed at him.

Jazz had quickly taken over after that, picking up the youth that was two nano-clicks for clicking like a lost sparkling. He had placed the youth on top of Cliffjumper’s desk, and then preceded to smile and joke with the little tyke, rubbing the top of his helm like he had done with so many younglings before. Magnus would sometimes visit the schools and Jazz had long since learned how to calm sparklings and small younglings … unlike the three Intel bots. Youngling still themselves it seemed. Frag, he was old.

So, what could have been a disastrous crying fit, quickly turned into unbidden curiosity on the youngling’s part. Echo wanted to know all about his creator’s office and the mechs in it.

Little guy was so cute. He made Jazz's spark melt.

Not a lot had yet come from the sparkling during the conversation that proceeded. Jazz was just able to verified that Sentinel was his indeed the youngling's creator and that he like light grade with aluminum coating and gelling soft-carbon goodies. He seemed well cared for despite seeming a little lethargic, and he honestly didn’t seem to know much about his creator’s job. Echo obviously didn’t get out much, but he seemed well educated for a first upgrade. A sharp processor in that one … he would be snatched up by someone in Autobot Command probably before he even got through boot camp.

Echo, still smiling because so many nice mechs were paying attention to him, suddenly stalled at Jazz’s newest question. His optics immediately dimmed and a pained expression pulled at his young face. No one missed how those small hands gripped at his chassis.

Bluestreak and Mirage stopped smiling at this immediately; Cliffjumper, who was frowning from the very beginning of this babysitting charade, frowned even more; and Jazz was immediately concerned. He quickly pulled Echo from his sitting spot onto of Cliffjumper’s desk and onto his own lap. He had stolen CJ’s chair cycles ago, thus all of CJs glaring. Regardles, he bounced the youngling on his lap a little, hoping it would gain him a smile. Instead, Jazz gained a wince and a pained intake.

He quickly stalled, petting Echo’s little ear fins (so like his creator’s) as he asked, “Hey, what’s wrong little buddy? I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I? Or are you not feeling well?”

Shaking his head, Echo tried to smile again and ignore the usual pain his chassis. He was used to it and he didn’t want to upset the mechs around the desk. Everyone always got upset when they found out he wasn’t feeling well. And he liked _Uncle_ _Jazz_ (as requested by Jazz) and didn’t want to disappoint him. He was still wondering how his creator worked with such friendly mechs but had yet to invite any of them to dinner. Sentinel always invited Sonic Trip, Low Tones, Codebreaker, even Professor Overhaul, and reluctantly Breakdown to dinner all the time.

Echo thought his creator did it because he was lonely. At least that's what Codebreaker would always say.

“Are you sure, little buddy?” said Jazz, sincerely.

This time Echo answered truthfully for he didn’t know there were secrets to be kept. Jazz had asked twice after all and Sentinel told him that lying only begets more lies and secrets. It was best not to lie if you didn’t have to. It would just get confusing then.

“No, it’s okay. My chassis just hurts sometimes. I’ll have to take my medical cube soon. Creator says that’s also why I can’t go to normal school, because I’m sick. My spark will start to hurt really bad sometimes, and then I will have to go to Doctor Breakdown. They both think it’s too much for a normal school. So, I have tutors like Codebreaker and sometimes Overhaul from down the hall. Overhaul says he’s a higher education professor at a private academy and that it is below him, but then Codebreaker frowns at him and he teaches me anyway.”

Jazz’s visor shone for a moment as he replied, a frown trying to tug at his lips, “Oh … so you are unwell and have never been to normal school?”

Echo nodded his head, feeling a little more confident around the new mechs. “Yeah, but maybe I can one day when I get better. I love learning history and exploring and painting with Low Tones. Creator even teaches me current politics all the time and how certain mechs are sketchy.”

Mirage snorted at that and Cliffjumper suddenly gained a wayward grin. Jazz merely struggled not to bursting out laughing as he choked, “Sketchy huh? Is that why your creator doesn’t let you visit?”

Echo smiled at their laughter. Sometimes his creator laughed like that. It was a good sound.

Shrugging his little shoulders, Echo honestly didn’t know why and admitted as much. “I don’t know. Creator probably doesn’t think it’s safe here. At least that’s what Low Tone said, but she just thinks he’s being silly.”

Jazz merely smiled bitterly, unable to deny there was a truth to that. After all, Shockwave had been wandering these very halls not so long ago. They never did find Blurr and Shockwave merely chuckled when they asked where he was … if he was still even online.

“Well, SM is just being careful. No fault there, but you get to go to your alma’s work right? What does he or she do?” said Jazz, trying to pry a bit more. He had been in Intel once and old habits die hard.

Echo looked confused for a moment, rubbed his chassis again, and then murmured, “But Sentinel is my alma?”

= _See! Told you Cliffjumper_ = came a comm link from Bluestreak to everyone but Echo, the rookie looking almost smug.

Cliffjumper merely punched the other in the shoulder, basically telling the younger bot to shut up.

Jazz had to reset his vocals twice from the shock, before he was able to state, “Ooh. Really. Well, I think that someone I would have noticed,” _or everyone really, carrying mechs aren't exactly small_ , “B-but umm … who’s your sire then? Should we call him? I don't know how long your … _alma_ … is going to be.”

At this Echo’s little ear fins fell downward in a sad way that made Jazz immediately regret asking. The youth then looked at the floor and in a voice so soft everyone had to turn up their audios, Echo stated, “I don’t have one … I guess. Creator never talks about my sire so I must not have one. I asked Breakdown once about it because it makes creator upset, and he said I don’t need one. He said Sentinel loves me more than enough.”

That almost made Jazz choke up. No wonder Sentinel always looked so tired. His mate had abandoned him and a kid. He would know if someone close to Sentinel deactivated.

At least he hoped he would.

Swallowing thickly, trying to ignore the pitying looks of the other three mechs, Jazz found he couldn’t reset his vocals again so soon. It was taking all that was in him not to huggle the cute little thing close and tell him he'll kick that abandoning sire's aft.

Frag, Sentinel. What was going on with him? This kind of thing wasn't something you kept to yourself. Was he really so bitter about him taking the hammer not to tell him?! Prowl would have died, Optimus might have as well, and who knows how the other young-bots would have fared.

Unable to take the silence anymore, feeling like he had said something wrong, Echo immediately apologized, “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to. No one else seems to care I only have an alma! Is that bad? Is that wrong?”

Jazz, snapping out of it, quickly patted down the now shivering ear fins, little droplets of coolant now gathering in the youngling’s optics. The white bot immediately smiled, saying truthfully, “No. No. I’m sure SM gives you all of his love and more. I was just confused I suppose, but never mind that. You said you had some medicine huh? Why don’t you take that now and we do some more homework, hmm?”

Wiping away the gathering tears with the palms of his small and delicate hands, Echo nodded.

Mirage, without being asked, quickly leaned down and grabbed the little bag against the wall. He rifled around a bit before frowning and then slowly pulling out two quarter cubes used by small frames or younglings. One looked like normal low grade energon and the other … was obviously medical grade with the tint to it. In fact, the color looked like the strong stuff. Not strong given someone of their sizes, but strong enough to probably be used by an adult mini model.

Echo didn’t even hesitate, he reached for the medical grade and opened it up without a second thought. A small sigh escaped his vents a moment later, the pain already fading. He then placed the cube on the desk without a second thought.

Jazz, petting the small helm, had too many question swimming in his helm. The biggest one was who he needed to punch in the face for not wanting this adorable thing. So what if Sentinel was part of the package. He wasn't that bad. A bit uptight and he needed to grow up a bit, but he seemed to have done a lot of that in the last two vorns.

Pushing away the thought, Jazz tried to mind the youth's studies, reading learning pad after learning pad to him without thinking about it. Yet the thought wouldn't stop bouncing around in his helm. Just who was Echo's sire? Or was the youngling merely calling Sentinel alma because Sentinel had adopted him? Usually, single mechs couldn't adopt … unless the sparkling came from a lost family member.

Sentinel didn't have any close family that would leave him a yougling … did he?

Opening his mouth, wanting to pry more about Echo's sire or what he meant by alma, Jazz's words were cut off when the sound of heavy familiar peds invaded the area.

“What is going on here? This isn't social time,” came a barking command, reminiscent more of Sentinel’s days training cadets then as a the head of communications. “You are not being paid to stand around –”

The words died in his vocals a moment later as Sentinel stepped up to the desk, his optics becoming too bright as he watched Jazz pat a small blue helm while reading a education-pad. In fact, it was a familiar form of _reminiscent_ blue. Little blue optics looked up a nano-klick later, at first surprised and then with a squeal of excitement as little peds hit the floor. Jazz barely had time to grab the data pad before it hit the floor.

Before his CPU could even completely process what was going on, Sentinel felt a little form slam against his leg and wrap servos around it. Little blue optics peered up at him, smiling like an idiot … like how Optimus used to smile in the academy, all teeth bared with his optics half-on.

“Creator! Creator! Jazz was reading to me about all the positions in the Autobot hierarchy. We went over old Magnuses and he even said you were Magnus for a while! Alma, why are you not Magnus anymore? Jazz didn’t say,” said the youth, oblivious to all the mechs behind him that had twitched at the youth’s words.

They had tried to ghost over the subject after it had accidentally been said, but Echo was a bright one and latched onto the unanswered questions like a _vice_.

Swallowing thickly, every creator program in him screaming that his youngling was in danger, Sentinel tried to keep his wits about him. He could not panic. He would not panic! Yes, somehow Echo was in the fortress. Yes, Jazz and everyone had just heard his youngling calm him _alma_. Yes there was an empty cube of medical low-grade energon on the desk. Yes, all four of his countrymen were practically vibrating with questions and … was that pity?

Armor pulling close in a defensive way, battle-mask just begging to slam shut, Sentinel tried to vent and press away something akin to a panic attack. He tried to devest those panicky lines of code as quickly as they came, but a breakdown was coming even though he kept telling himself that he could still salvage this. He could still salvage Echo’s future!

He had to leave.

He had to leave _now_.

He had to leave … before Optimus saw him.

Echo, seeming to catch the anxiety in his carrier’s spark, was slowly losing his smile, his tone timid. “Creator … is something wrong? I know you are probably busy, but Uncle Jazz said there is youngling-care in the building over and I can go there for a while. Or I can take a nap in your office. I did take my medicine so I am getting kind of sleepy.”

Swallowing again, trying to block off any panicked feelings from his creation, Sentinel quickly picked up his child and placed him on the crook of his hip. That way he still had access completely to one of his hands. Sonic Trip had taught him that much when Echo had been going through a _phase_. Echo would cry whenever he was put down. He could still remember trying to cook, clean and even work on his rehabilitation with a sparkling on his hip.

“That will be all today,” said Sentinel in a tone that could have chilled energon in the engine. He then grabbed Echo’s bag and sub-spaced it, his storage much larger than Low Tones. He nearly shorted out in surprise when Jazz was suddenly in front of him, placing a hand on his free wrist and successfully stalling his retreat.

“Hey SM. Please, don't get sour. The Magnus thing accidentally slipped to the kid during his lesson,” said Jazz, trying to apologize and keep the situation cool at the same time. “Speaking of kids … when did this adorable little guy happen? ”

Sentinel immediately stiffened, unable to find the words or even a lie.

Jazz, older and still used to the upstart that followed after Ultra Magnus like a lost turbo-fox, signaled towards Sentinel’s office, “I know you got some high grade. How about you let Echo have that nap on your visitors couch and then you can cool your jets a bit and have a good old chat with Uncle Jazz.”

Swallowing, his hands threatening to shake, Sentinel bit out, “No thank you, Jazz. I have not slept in over a mega-cycle. I, I mean _we_ , are going home.”

Door wings ridged and pulling tight against his form, Jazz felt that if he let go of Sentinel now … he might never get a hold of him again. Regardless, he slowly let got of that forearm guard and murmured, “Sure thing, SM. You must be tired. Another time. Yeah?”

Sentinel said nothing. He merely moved quickly as if his heels were on fire. Echo, little arms now wrapped around his creator’s neck, meekly waved goodbye over Sentinel’s shoulder. Then, the two blue forms were gone, the echoing sound of hurried steps soon following after.

No one dared interrupt the silence for a few cycles until Mirage opened his mouth, closed his mouth, thought about it, opened his mouth again and finally spoke, “Okay, first of all _congrats_ Jazz. You survived that encounter.” Jazz glared at him, but the blue mech continued, “Also, I know this makes me a terrible, terrible being, but does anyone else want to abuse their title and contacts to find out what just happened? Like, mostly, who the sire was or original parents.”

All the mechs looked at each other awkwardly as if they wanted to admit it and yet were unwilling to. It really wasn't a very Autobot thing to do after all.

Jazz, of course, was the first to pipe up. “Not wanting risk soundin' like an even worse mech than Mirage-”

“Hey.”

“-But first to find out who the sire is gets to punch the abandoning fragger in the face, and then gets dinner on all the others. Deal?” finished the mech, trying to brush off the sour taste in his mouth with a little wager.

“B-but he'll kill us! And we just can't punch mechs in the face. How do we know they abandoned him anyway? It could be a second cousin's kid or something that he was forced to adopt,” barked Bluestreak like the rookie he was.

As was quickly becoming usual, no one listened to the rookie.

Cliffjumper was already heading back to his computer, murmuring, “Already started. That face punch is mine Jazz.”

“I as well have started,” chuckled Mirage as he shimmered out of existence. “I like my energon expensive boys.”

Soon, everyone but Bluestreak was wandering off on a mission, leaving the rookie standing there alone. Slowly, the young-bot sighed in resignation already trying to figure out how many credits he would need to take Mirage out to dinner.

…

Jazz honestly didn't know how he should feel right now. He wanted to be mad, angry, upset and maybe a little hurt. He honestly wanted to teach someone a lesson. If a sire or a mysterious second cousin or someone died, Sentinel would have told his sparkling. The kid honestly looked too much like Sentinel not to be his kid. So, the only reason you don't tell a kid who there sire was, is because you are ashamed. He wanted to punch whoever that fragger was in the face. Yet, he wanted to punch Sentinel in the face just as much.

For Primus sake, Sentinel had a first-upgrade youngling at home. A kid. He had a _fraggen_ kid. That's not something you just forget to mention to people. It's something you hide. He couldn't even find anything in the ex-Prime's records that hinted that he had a kid. No extra insurance, no mentions of bonding time off, no dead cousins leaving him large sums of money … nothing.

It was as if he was embarrassed he had a kid. Is that why he was hid away? No, Jazz kind of doubted that. Blue fragger looked ready to kill someone if they dared look at Echo wrong. So, if he was in fact a real alma, was SM embarrassed that he had bottomed for some else and had gotten Heavy in the process? If so, so what?! Yes, Jazz knew the ex-Prime preferred femmes, but there was nothing wrong with finding a good mech-spike to pleasure you instead. There was nothing wrong with lying down, spreading your legs and being filled to the brim while someone labored above you for both of your pleasure.

There was nothing wrong with that.

Well, at least one good thing was coming from all of this. If he was in fact an alma, Optimus now had irrefutable proof that Sentinel had slept with other mechs before, meaning … he might be willing to accept Optimus Prime's courting advances.

Yes, _courting_ advances.

There was no doubt in his CPU that Optimus would go straight for courting the ex-Prime. He didn't know much about Optimus' youngling-hood, but whoever his creators were … they seemed traditional. It also seemed unlikely that Optimus would try so hard just to have a one night stand. Not that Jazz found anything wrong with that. Sometimes one-nighters formed bonds after all. Good friendships could occur or at least some direction of who you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. There was more than one romance vid where such a thing happened and a mech would be running around the city trying to find the unnamed mech his spark had fallen in love with during a drunken one night stand.

Jazz wasn't entirely inclined to those kind of romances, but he knew mechs like Cliffjumper kept a secret stash of them on their computer work station.

Okay, he had just found that out today. How else would he have gotten a hold of Sentinel’s personnel files?

Thank you, Cliffjumper for doing all the foot work.

Regardless, there had been some form of a bond apparently between the two mechs. Optimus had basically felt Sentinel nearly offline after all. Jazz just hoped Optimus liked kids though because if he didn't, he just as wells give up now.

But if he was okay with it … Someone got to be the sire. And the sire usually always topped.

Lucky fragger.

Oh, speaking of Unicron, just the information smorgasbord he was looking for. If there had been some type of relationship in Sentinel’s past or a close relative that deactivated, Optimus would have to know. Then he could find some mech to punch in the face. He supposed it could be a femme a well, but a femme would have tried to keep the kid.

Sliding into step with Optimus, part of him nearly vibrating with curiosity, Jazz purred, “Have spare moment, OP?”

A few steps behind Magnus as they walked undoubtedly to their next meeting, Optimus looked up and had to reset his optics when he saw how large Jazz's smirk was.

Yeah … Did he want to know?

“Not really. We found more information about the Shadow. Apparently, he was messing with some Trypticon records as well. We are heading over there now to speak with the warden,” said Optimus, noting that Jazz's smile was struggling to remain. “Why? Is it something that cannot be spoken about on the walk to the exit?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, his CPU at war with itself. He decided it was best that Optimus hear the news from his mouth instead of a second or third party.

“Well, depends. I could beat around the tree, as humans say, or just get to the point. How do you want it?” asked Jazz, deciding it was best for Optimus to choose his own poison.

Quirking an optic in confusion, Optimus shrugged, “Well, as Sari use to say, sometimes its best just to rip off the band-aid … Huh, I think I said that one right.”

Chuckling, Jazz said it plainly, “So … did you know SP, I mean SM, has a kid? Cutest thing ever and even more so with Sentinel acting like a ruffled cyber-bird. I swear he might have tried pecking my optics out if I had even looked at the kid the wrong way.”

Optimus, looking at a digi-pad as he tried to get ready for the meeting they were about to have, gave Jazz an ill-humored look. “I’m not falling for that Jazz. Go prank someone else.”

Jazz frowned, upset for a moment because Optimus didn't automatically believe him. Well, he hadn't believed it at first either. Unfortunately, that probably meant that he likely had a no-go down the information highway with Optimus Prime. Yet, Optimus might have at least heard a rumor. They had been good friends in the past after all. Then again … if Sentinel had to be ashamed of the sire?

“I’m not kidden’ … I just wanted to know about the little trooper and why he was sick. Maybe send Sentinel a gift basket or something for the kid’s spark-day. I might even punch some mech in the face or send a sympathy gift,” said Jazz, almost lackadaisically.

Watching OP churn the words over in his helm, Jazz couldn't help but think what a great Magnus the young Prime would one day make. Sentinel might have been a decent one … in time. He was meant to train for vorns and vorns, now doubt, before becoming Magnus, but then the responsibility had been thrust upon him. Then again, Sentinel might have always been temporary until the Magnus found the perfect heir. Either way, Ultra Magnus wasn't telling and it was probably for the best that things had happened the way they had. That way Sentinel wouldn't have to pine over a position that was never meant for him. It was as if, when Sentinel became temporary Magnus, something had just _cracked_. The new Magnus had become paranoid, angry, vengeful and acted like he never wanted another Con to get near _him_.

Hmm, why had he never realized that until now? It took him almost two vorns to realize that Sentinel had been wearing a powerful face during his rein, but what did he have to be so scared of? Unless…

How old was Echo?

A sickening thought suddenly blindsided Jazz like a semi. If Sentinel was in fact Echo's true alma, hehadn't been carrying during his time as Magnus, had he?

Frag, why had no one heard of this kid? He needed to dig more. He had managed to get a hold of the personnel files, but there was no mention, at all, of medical leave, adoptions or anything of the nature. If Echo was carried, the only time Sentinel had had to himself was during his accident.

Wait … how many orns was he gone during that?

“… Are you listening to me?”

Jazz perked up and turned his head back to Optimus, blinking like an owl behind his visor. Maybe he should have researched a bit more before bringing this to Optimus. Then again, Optimus has access to more secure files than he or Cliffjumper did as the Magnus' current second.

Clearing his throat tubing, Jazz said, “What? Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts, OP. You are going to have to give me the low down again.”

Sighing, part of him still thinking that this had to be some kind of elaborate prank, the Prime offered his digi-pad to Jazz and said, “Okay, I'll play along. Show me some proof Sentinel has a youngling, but I'm still not falling for it. Military insurance policies, education and medical discounts, as well as tax policies would make it impossible for me not to now about Sentinel having a youngling. Plus, he would have made me babysit whenever he wanted a night on the town. Sentinel does not have a youngling.”

Frowning, now painfully recalling the lack of an insurance policy on Sentinel's account (which would support Echo if anything ever happened to his creator and there was no reason not to get it unless he had a lot of extra expenses), Jazz pulled a cord out of the digi-pad and hooked it into his wrist. He quickly downloaded three images from earlier that day because he knew … there were no files of Echo in the military computers to prove his claims.

_Not one._ If the little darling didn't look just like Sentinel, he would start thinking the little guy had been kidnapped or something.

Unplugging the digi-pad, he handed it back to Optimus, hoping for the best. Maybe Echo looked like a second cousin or something.

Optimus actually stalled for a moment as he stared at the one picture where Sentinel was sheltering Echo in his arms while there was an enraged expression on his face. He had never seen Sentinel so distressed. “These are fake, right?”

Jazz shook his head, murmuring, “I’m not trying to trip you up, OP. I’m just as confused as you are. I was hopin’ you knew somethin’. Maybe an old lover or dead cousin or something?”

Frowning, Optimus almost looked pained, a hand coming up to rub his chassis. “I don't know. I know there is a rift between the two of us, but … to not even know. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“Tell you what, Optimus Prime?”

The two mechs nearly jumped out of their armor when the Magnus started toward them, apparently having noticed his entourage was no longer following him. The large mech stalled in front of them, immediately noticing the digi-pad. He calmly put out a servo and asked, “May I see that.”

Not knowing what else to do, Optimus slowly offered it to his superior. Ultra Magnus took it and stared with his usual cool disposition, though his frown did seem to drip a little. Old optics soon bore down on Jazz. “Sentinel Minor doesn’t seem to appreciate these pictures by his expression, Officer Jazz. In the future I recommend asking unless it is for security purposes and … who is the youngling? I have visited the military schools and youngling-care centers many times, and I have never seen him before. He has an uncanny resemblance to Sentinel Minor. Is he a niece or nephew? He seems rather … protective. And why is he out of school? And why is he here? I understand emergency family situations, but this is a military building. Not just anyone’s younglings should be here. Especially not the communications department after a break in.”

Looking at each other, feeling that Sentinel would be chastised if they didn’t say something first, Jazz murmured, “Well… it seemed to have been a family situation. The situation wasn't exactly … clear.”

Ultra Magnus rose a metallic brow and asked, “Please elaborate, Officer Jazz. Are you purposefully being ill-defined?”

Jazz sighed in resignation, not wanting to stir up trouble. “I apologize sir if I was vague … Its just that the details are unclear. I am still gathering intel on it. Sentinel left shortly after finding out the babysitter had drop Echo, the youngling, off with his secretary. Cliffjumper then stated that the babysitter said the child was Sentinel's and the child seemed to confirm that as well. It's just that … no one in Intel has heard of Sentinel having any children.”

Ultra Magnus was frowning a little harder as he stared at the picture. Then, as if coming to a decision, he pulled the digi-pad closer and logged in under his name so that he would have access to _all_ personnel files. He was quick for one with such old fingers and soon Sentinel’s complete profile was up. He glanced over it for a moment, his frown still present as he murmured, “It says that he doesn’t have any dependents, and Sentinel Minor has always been very punctual about his paperwork. I doubt he would just overlook such a crucial piece of paperwork.”

For a moment there was silence, before Ultra Magnus logged out of his account and handed the digi-pad back to Optimus Prime. The large mech return his gaze to Jazz, stating, “If you are worry about it being a security issue, please check into it. And Jazz…”

The ninja-bot stalled, ready to dig into this with all the ferocity of a blood hound.

“Please do inform me of your findings. I would like to know why Sentinel Minor … was so upset in that picture and if it is a dependent, why he hasn’t filled out the necessary paperwork. It would be terrible if something happened to him and his dependents didn't have the necessary support from the Autobot system,” said Ultra Magnus as he turned and headed over to his next meeting.

Jazz merely nodded before saluting and turning heel. For some reason … he felt that he had just made things worse than better.

…

It had been a few groons since his creator had brought him home and since then Echo had watched his creator pack a sub-spaced bag, only to unpack it a moment later. It was like his creator couldn't decided what to do.

Echo couldn't ignore it anymore. He had read the same line about ten times mostly because he creator had pace past for the hundredth time it the last cycle. Creator was upset. Really upset. Was it about his job? He had almost yelled at Jazz, Echo could tell.

What was so bad about being Magnus? His creator really was upset that Jazz had told him that, but what was wrong with that?

Frowning, feeling his alma's distressed feelings through the bond though Sentinel was trying to keep them to himself, Echo decided he didn’t want to be strong anymore. He didn’t want to be a trooper like his father was always asking him to be after shot after shot or surgery. He was confused and scared and didn't understand what had been so bad today.

So he stood up and dropped his digi-pads, the tears already streaming down his small face. He didn't even try to contain the sobbing as he broke down into tears, cleaner fluid falling from his optics at an alarming rate. Sentinel automatically stalled before his partially packed bag, optics going wide as he walked over to his creation.

Kneeling down, Sentinel asked, “What’s wrong, little trooper. You promised me that you would read that digi-pad quietly while I tried to figure out what to do. And we never break our promises, do we?”

Sentinel was near tears himself, his thoughts of having to leaving Cybertron behind plaguing his CPU like a virus. Somehow, he held back a hiccup of his own vents. No one was ever supposed to know about Echo. Not one bot in Autobot Command was supposed to know. His creation, his only child, was supposed to become a scientist or something important on a far away colony where no one had ever heard of Sentinel Magnus. Anywhere that wasn’t related to military funding would have done.

So his little trooper could be anyone.

So his little trooper would never have to know the pain … of being a victim.

Sentinel never wanted Optimus to see his little creation, because he was almost certain that if the repair-bot ever saw Echo… he would know it was his. He would recall that terror filled night. He would know Sentinel’s shame … and then he would take Echo.

Sentinel's vents shivered at the thought. Then, feeling weak and broken like a rock had been dropped into his spark chamber, his optics started leaking as well though he was still smiling to try and keep Echo calm. His little mech noticed though and started crying even harder as he reached up for his creator’s face. “Don’t cry creator. _Don’t cry_. I’m sorry, _I’m sorry_. I did something wrong. I will stop crying. _Just stop crying creator._ ”

Smile slowly dying on his face, Sentinel found he couldn't hold back anymore. His tears falling faster as he started crying as well. He hadn’t even realized he was sitting on the floor until his sparkling crawled onto his nap and wrapped his arms as best as he could around his creator, whispering, “It’s okay creator. It’s okay. I’m here. I won't let the shadow or anyone else get you. _I promise._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alot happened in this chapter, didn't it? I've been waiting to put this chapter up for ages. I wrote most of it a long time ago. I'm notorious of skipping around. Regardless, I hoped I used the right term for mother. I think a lot of writers use alma … or maybe its ama. Meh, feel free to correct me. Regardless, fell the angst! Oooh, poor Sentinel. I'll huggle you.


	30. The Butcher

Sari had onlined with a scream.

Ratchet was still patting the young femme's back as tears streamed down her face, her form calming down from its earlier hyperventilating as she looked at the shadows in fear. Patting the wing nubs on her back, guilt rolling around in his spark as he thought once again about the card he had been given last night, Ratchet asked again, “What was the dream about, Sari? Was it about the final battle on Earth … or maybe the lab?”

Wiping her cheeks, swallowing thickly, she almost begged, “N-no. Ratch can you just turn on the lights? I-I don't like the shadows.”

He merely nodded his head and did as she asked with a silent command to the habitation suite.

Glad for the light, Sari choke-sobbed again and wiped away more tears. “It’s just a nightmare I keep having about this shadow creature. He keeps taunting me. I've told him to frag off, but it doesn't help.”

Nodding, Ratchet rubbed her back a moment more and then asked, “Shadow huh? We'll get a night light for your room if you want?”

“I don't need a night light,” laughed the femme bitterly as she rubbed her eyes again. “I just need my dream journal. It makes the dreams go away. Plus, it helps me remember what he's up to.”

Nodding, wondering if the shadow had to do with her father's 'death', Ratchet asked, “What was it about? I'll remember for you until we get you a digi-pad to write in. I could probably refurbish one of my old medical journals today.”

Swallowing, rubbing her wrists, she nodded. “Okay, well … The shadow's a jerk for one, but he basically just wants me out of the way. He really, _really_ dislikes the blue star and the small golden star that twirls around it. I don't know why, but I think he is afraid of the golden one the most even though he's young. He keeps trying to hurt him and scare the older … sun. No, spark. Yes, I think it’s an older spark and not a sun. It's like the shadow is trying to kill the young spark by killing the parent one. He is afraid of what the golden spark will become when it gets older. I think. Or maybe he’s afraid of what the golden spark will find. I honestly … it makes my head hurt.”

Frowning, almost afraid of the femme's eerie words, the medic patted her once more on the shoulder before stating, “I'll remember for you. Now, come on young femme. Time for your afternoon energon.”

The femme made a face making the older mech laugh as he stood up and offered her a hand off of the high berth. She accepted it with a grumble as she hopped down and followed him into the main room. The medic quickly prepared her an identical cube to the one he had tried to feed her yesterday before putting it before her. He even put a spoon in it like last time.

She scowled at it as he sat across from her just like yesterday and started to read a digi-pad. She poked at the cube and then gave the medic a begging look. She didn't … she didn't want to eat this. She didn't want her Cybertronian side to get larger and stronger. She didn't … want any of this.

Yet, her stomach whined, painfully so. She hadn't eaten anything in nearly two days.

With a sigh, she relented.

Picking up the spoon, all too aware that Ratchet was now watching her eat the gelled energon and additive’s mix, she took the first bite. She nearly gagged from the texture, but not the taste. It was like heavy sand or mud with a side of slime, but it did taste good. _Soo_ _good_. She had always been ADHD with her food, seemingly never knowing what exactly she wanted, but this seemed to satisfy every taste bud. Soon, she was spooning up the cube until the next thing she knew … she was to the bottom, the spoon clicking.

She stalled, surprised with herself as she looked to Ratchet. Had this always been what her body wanted? Was she, in the end, more Cybertronian than earthling?

Ratchet, sharing her gaze, seemed pleased though.

Slowly, he nodded, murmuring, “Good to see you have an appetite for it, kid. I did add some sweet metals though for taste. I was honestly worried that it wasn't going to take or that we would have to put you on sparkling fuel, but I'll get you some more if you are hungry.”

Shaking her head, part of her not wanting to actively add to her changes, Sari merely said, “No, I am good.”

She was still terrified of her own body even though she would never admit it.

Though he didn't believe her, the medic accepted her word with a nod. “So young-femme, we need to talk about what's on the agenda today, hmm?”

“Nothing better to do.”

“Well, I know you don't want to talk about it, but we need to get yours and Reboot’s room set up. The youngling care center is going to be checking in and you two from time to time. Apparently they don't think I know how to slaggen take care of a youngling. So we need to set up your own space,” he stated, pushing a small bowl of energon treats towards the femme. He wasn't much of a fan, more of a rusty metal fan, but young bots like Optimus or Bulkhead could never get enough of the gelled candies or shock orbs. He had even caught Optimus, when he thought no one was looking, stuffing handfuls in his mouth until his cheeks bulged.

Sari, like Optimus, pretended not to be interested, only to grab one and pop it in her mouth when he looked away for a moment.

“Now, Bee is going to be by today with some of your things from Earth. Bulkhead also volunteered to pick up two youngling-sized berths when they got back. I know you’re probably not a fan of berths, but Bumblebee said he would pack a whole bunch of soft fiber-things for you,” said the medic as he watched her pop another treat into her mouth, smiling when she looked up at him guiltily, her cheeks bulging.

Chuckling, Ratchet continued, “They set out to do that a few groons ago. So we will see them sometime this day-cycle. Until then, how about you help an old bot clean out that extra room?”

Sari, trying to keep her chewing low key, looked up at him like a chipmunk before she swallowed, smiling awkwardly before she grabbed one more. “Okay, these aren't half bad.”

Chuckling even more, Ratchet asked, “Not hungry huh?”

She merely shrugged before grabbing another two, unable to look her caretaker in the optic. “I told you they were good. But seriously Ratchet, I know you think I'm a child and want me to live here, but I'm not a child. I don't need anyone to take care of me.”

Huffing through his vents like that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard, Ratchet got to his feet while offering her a hand down from the stool she was on. “Sari, I don't think you understand. Everyone needs someone to take care of them if they are a kid or not. Do you think I don't want you to take care of me? An old bot gets slow if there isn't a young spark to keep him on his toes. Now, you going to sit there and watch me rust or do you want to pick what side of the room is yours?”

Looking at the offered servo, something tugging in her spark, Sari decided to accepted it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad being a child again. She could start over and she honestly didn’t know if she had ever been an adult to begin with. Maybe it would be nice … to have someone take care of her. She loved her father, she really had, but she always felt like she had been the one taking care of him.

Yeah, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. At least Ratchet was unlikely to leave her alone for a very, very long time.

…

“Really, just pick one Bulkhead. We are burning daylight here. We need to go bother Optimus about the shadow thingy from Sari’s room. Not whatever this is,” griped Bumblebee as he paced in the background, Bulkhead standing next to a sales mech that was showing him berths. “And why are you picking youngling berths anyway? Sari isn't a child anymore. Get her an adult berth. Mini model, of course.”

Dwelling on Bee's words, the slightly older mech pointed to two nice berths. One berth had yellow detailing and another one had black and white detailing. They both had comfortable padding on top that sparklings or younglings needed.

“We searched for that shadow and found no signs of him except that strange purple energon sample. Whoever he was, he’s gone for now. Yeager said he would contact us if there were any more signs of him. He’s likely the new villain on the street,” said Bulkhead as he looked over his younger friend, a long time suspicion finally bubbling forth from his vocalizer. “… And what do you think Sari is exactly, Bumblebee? She needs a youngling berth. Not a mini.”

Stalling, glaring for a moment, Bee went back to pacing and ignored part of the conversation. “What do you mean by _the new villain_? Like Lockdown? Headmaster? That’s not a little thing Bulkhead. And why was he in Sari’s room reading her dairy? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“We sent a report to Optimus,” said Bulkhead, watching his friend pace and obviously ignore his query. “But apparently there was a break in or something in Fort Maximus, little buddy. I’m sure that … uh … takes precedence over some shadow guy. He will read the report and meet with us as soon as he can. I mean, a break in means we likely have a spy or … um … an information leak in command. That’s really important. More than some strange shadow-jerk.”

Bee winced, reminded briefly of Wasp. They never found the mech … or at least the thing he had become. He still continued to pace though, his hand brushing over the subspace where he had put the strange purple sample and Sari’s dream journal.

“But what if it was after Sari?” whined Bee, worry evident.

Bulkhead sighed. He didn’t really want to have this conversation in the middle of a shopping department, but he wasn’t just going to let the conversation die either. It was so hard getting things out of Bee when it regarded his feelings.

“She will have us … like always Bee,” said Bulkhead carefully. “But you still haven’t answered me. What do you think Sari is exactly, Bee?”

Giving his friend a reluctant look, Bee tried to shrug. “What does that mean? She's Sari. _My_ … Our friend.”

Turning to stare, his subspace feeling somewhat bloated with Sari's things from Earth, Bulkhead sighed out of his vents. “Bumblebee, you know what I mean. I might be a little … slow … sometimes, but I am not blind. I know Sari can seem very … mature … about some things since her upgrade. I also know that maybe, one vorn, you'd like to have something … _more_ … with her.”

Bee stalled and blushed, going back to his pacing. He didn't deny it though. He didn't know how. A part of him told himself it was wrong, but his spark always felt so at peace around her at the same time.

“But she is still a child in many ways, little buddy,” finally added Bulkhead, feeling like they should have had this conversation ages ago. “Ratchet is … um … adopting her I guess and he is going to treat her like a youngling. So you should as well. You understand, Bumblebee?”

Stalling, staring at his feet, Bumblebee nodded. Then, he painfully admitted, “I know. I know. It’s just that she was a child and then she kind of wasn't, but was. Plus, she's organic. What if … she doesn't have that much time? She's organic and they usually disappear in under a vorn.”

Humming, nodding, Bulkhead admitted, “She has a spark though, doesn't she? She's not going to just _fade_ in a vorn. Not if Ratchet has anything to say about it. So, little buddy, instead of presuming stuff, maybe you should ask. You probably have plenty of time.”

Sighing, nodding, he admitted, “You're right.”

“Of course I am,” joked Bulkhead. “Now, don't worry about it. We have vorns to worry about that stuff. Instead, what do you think of these two berths?”

Looking at the two choices, Bee asked, “Sure that's yellow enough?”

Bulkhead could only sigh.

…

Luckily, it didn't take another groon to decide on two berths. The berths chosen surprisingly turned out to be the same ones that Bulkhead had initially picked. Not that he had told Bumblebee that. He didn’t need to be stuck there another groon. It was already mid-day on Cybertron and Ratchet probably wanted Sari’s room at least partially set up before nightfall. Bulkhead also wanted to ask about Sumdac. He really didn’t understand everything the old medic was talking about, but apparently Sumdac was now Reboot?

Hmm, he’d have to ask for more details because that sounded crazy.

Quickly transforming, the mover bot behind them, Bee knocked impatiently and nearly screamed when Ratchet ripped open the door. He was covered in dust and had a glint of madness in his optics. “You are late! Get in here! You were supposed to be here groons ago.”

Bumblebee didn’t even get to squeak as his arms were suddenly filled with old data-pads, the young mech dragged inside a minute later. Bulkhead didn't even have to be told twice as he tripped inside, the delivery bot left outside looking confused as he moved his data-pad back and forth. He wanted to know who was meant to sign for this.

The delivery bot quickly regretted his actions thought when an aging medic glared at him. Oh, boy. Angry customers. Not good. Not good. The mover-bot, using the digi-pad to cover his face, quickly whined, “Don't hurt me, sir! I’m just a delivery bot.”

Ratchet, caring little that he was scaring bots with his growling and yelling, put out a servo. “Well, don’t make me wait all day then! I’m rusting here. Give me that and move those into the spare room. Then hook them up!”

Giving the pad to Ratchet, the medic quickly signed and paid for the two berths. The mover bot then stumbled in, nearly tripping on Bumblebee and Bulkhead as the two mechs tried to chat with Sari and move things at the same time. The young femme’s optics were once again filled with tears as she tried to hug them and yet tried not be crushed by too many peds in the place. If anyone could have seen below her battle mask at that moment, they would have even seen a ghost of a smile on her face.

She had gotten some of her family back.

Sighing, Ratchet’s ire somewhat washed away by the softheartedness of young bots, the medic was going to let them be and socialize. That is until Bulkhead’s subspace suddenly _exploded_ in a wave of horrible fluffy things, stuffed toys and blankets going everywhere.

For a moment, everyone stood there, blankets and clothing hanging awkwardly off all the bots present. The poor moving bot looked like he was a living curtain, two blue optics blinking in surprise from his pile; Bee had actually been knocked over by a giant stuffed toy; and Sari was standing there in horror … for one of her training bras was hanging from the ceiling. Ratchet didn’t even think she needed one given her lack of maturity in even that department, but quickly decided it was probably a cultural thing.

Bulkhead, free of any clothing, merely rubbed the back of his helm. “Whoops, my bad. I might have over packed that subspace. Well, at least it wasn’t the sub space carrying the books and welding equipment that blowed.”

Ratchet almost wanted to ask ‘what welding equipment’, but figured he was going to find out soon enough … because Bulkhead’s armor was suddenly rattling. Grabbing Sari while yelling, ‘everyone get down,’ Ratchet groaned. Today was not going to end well. Not at all, especially since had a date with a _butcher_.

…

Meanwhile, across the city, Sentinel had worked himself up into a near tizzy after his breakdown with Echo. He had been battling with himself all evening if he should stay or go. He hadn't been able to decide and yet … a private message from Optimus brought the world down around him. Optimus was asking for them to have energon some time after work tomorrow.

It seemed innocent and yet … All he could see was Optimus asking if the sparkling was his.

Was it his?

Was it his?

It was then that Sentinel, pain slowly blossoming in his chest as he full out panicked, finished packing his and Echo's bags. He just had to make one more stop and then no one would ever hear from him again.

...

Breakdown sighed and looked at the corner of operation room again. There was still nothing there. No Knock Out. Frag, when would that image stop haunting him? It obviously was a bad line of code. He had been scanning his own systems for groons and he still hadn’t found anything.

Maybe it was a smart virus.

Maybe he would have to go to a _real_ medic.

Breakdown bared his denta at the horrible thought and scrubbed his medical tools all the harder.

It had been a hard day. He had had a set of twins in. Both had had wing numbs and purple optics. The parents both thought they were full bred Autobots. Poor fraggers. Neither one knew if they had been _fixed_ in childhood or if it was their parents’ secret.

Well, their secret now...

He honestly didn’t feel too bad for them. One was obviously a tower mech. He hoped the taste was bitter indeed. Mechs like him and their sway over the Council was why the Decepticons started the war to begin with … and why mechs now hide those war-build genetics in shame.

Not that Autobots were really taught younglings about the original reasons for the war anymore.

Breakdown sighed at the thought. One day the Autobots were doomed to repeat themselves. He could feel it in his gears.

Either way, the tower mech had been desperate and needed the issue fixed _now_. _Oh what a disgrace. What a disgrace._ He could still hear the panicky sire. Fragger needed a punch to the face. Especially when _Breakdown_ , not the sire, had to smiled down at those newsparks and make one of their first touches agony. After all, it was best to clip wing nubs when the children were awake. That way their systems would recognize that those wings were _gone_. In the past, Breakdown used to do it when the sparklings were asleep.

He knew better now.

A few vorns after he had opened his clinic there had been a stream of suicides in the area. Young mechs and femmes were sure that they had wings and could _fly_. The local investigators thought it was some kind of virus or a cult following. _What is causing this_ had been a local outcry. It sent mental health officials into a frenzy as well as medics that wrote anti-suicide codes. Breakdown, of course, found out quickly enough what was going on. He had noticed a pattern where no one else could. After all, he had snipped every single one of them of their rotors or wings when they were sparklings. He had wanted to be kind and spare them the pain of losing such a vital part of their anatomy, so he had put them under.

He know knew better. The CPU, the scarring memory, had to be there in those sparklings young minds if only to unconsciously remind them … they didn’t have wings anymore.

He never could get over removing wing nubs. The young clicks and squeals of pain were nerve grinding, especially with twins. You could never move sparkling twins too far from each other without stressing their sparks that first vorn or two. So, while one sparkling was getting clipped, squealing and kicking out, the second twin would be reaching for its siblings trying pry Breakdown’s fingers away. A useless endeavor for they would fall under his cruel tools a few klicks later.

It was spark-breaking to watch.

Then, after removing the nubs, the sire didn’t want visors which were pain free additions to hide non-blue optics. No, he had to have each little optic broken out, little energon tears running down their cheeks as they squealed and tried to crawl away from him. They were too small though, to defenseless, and when they would reach out and cry to their creators … they would receive no salvation. The sire hadn't even had the tank to watch the whole thing. He ran out like a coward. He hadn't even been able to look down at those matching pair of perfect Autobot-blue optics when he picked them up. Poor things squealed when he had touched them. Not that Breakdown blamed them … they were both temporarily blind at the time and would be for a whole orn.

Frag, to be blind a whole orn, in pain and wingless ... it had to be horrible. It definitely had to be traumatizing. It was no wonder mechs and femmes called him a butcher. He deserved the title. He, not Knock Out, deserved a small prison cell.

Placing a hand over his optic, not wanting to look at the little shards of purple optic glass in the basin before him, Breakdown nearly jumped out of his own plating when suddenly there was a bing for the front door of his small clinic.

The mech stalled, stood up straight and covered the basin with its glittering little optic shards and droplets of energon. Unwanted programs and _appendages_ always came through the back. Not the front. Official patients came through the front with scrapes, damaged plating, sour tanks and viruses. He honestly didn't get many _real_ patients. It wasn't that he didn't know how to do all of those things, it was just that his little clinic didn't have that great of a reputation.

No surprise there.

Wiping his hands of cleaning solvent, the large blue mech made his way to the front door. It almost felt strange to walk into the main waiting area, especially when he saw another medic standing there. The clinic honestly closed about a groon ago, but given that he lived in his clinic … he was more than willing to take special cases at any time.

Standing behind his waiting desk, still wiping his hands, he looked at the old red Autobot. He was an older model, from before the war obviously. He had some recent upgrades done from the look of him, but he still had a damaged chevron. Old damage. Likely a war wound and a reminder of days long past. breakdown understood. His missing optic was a constant reminder.

That still didn't explain why another medic was in his clinic, especially since he looked well off and this wasn't the greatest of neighborhoods.

“May I help you? It’s after hours, but if it’s important I can help,” said Breakdown, eyeing the other.

The older model eyed him as well, his frown heavy and dark. It was not a look Breakdown cared for, especially when the Autobot murmured, “Surprise inspection.”

“It’s kind of _late_ for an inspection, isn't it?” asked Breakdown, paranoia rising to the surface. “And what happened the usual guy?”

Oh he knew the usual guy and his mate _real well_. Removed some ingrained battle programs off his mate when she came in from the colonies. She couldn't become a citizen after all with those programs. She hardly missed them though she did seem to trip more often and was now considered a klutz. A good femme. She took care of younglings in the youngling care centers. She had even brought him a few charity cases.

“They are busy,” said the older mech, the Autobot eyeing the place with a critical glare.

Frowning, plates riling up in a show of irritation, Breakdown decided to just get to the point. “I doubt it. Now, what do you _really_ want? Mechs, even inspectors, don’t come here unless they want something specific. In fact, most mechs don’t even care that this place exists. It’s just some no-name clinic and I am just some mediocre no name medic. So get the frag out or tell me what you really want.”

Ratchet … was not surprised by the outburst. He could see this was a mech beaten down by the war, a reminder resting where an optic had once been. A missing optic was not at all acceptable for a medic. It was one thing to have his chevron slightly damaged. It still functioned at acceptable levels. That missing optic though … It was just a reminder of pain, hate and blood. He did respect the straightforwardness though.

The old medic ground his dentas together regardless, his pride churning in his chest. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be making deals with this deplorable being. He didn’t want Sari anywhere near this disgusting waste of metal and spark, but he had to remind himself that he was here for Sari and Reboot's wellbeing. He was here for them and he would make a deal with Unicron himself to secure a safe and good future for them both.

His words were biting nonetheless. “I am here for the _butcher_.”

Breakdown, a bit surprised that the mech had been so forward with his unofficial title, twitched. He was starting to wonder if this was some kind of Autobot test. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. That is until the old mech pulled out a small digi-card and handed it to him.

 _Ah_ , one of his cards. That explained a lot. He only gave out so many to mechs that he had done personal and discreet work for. He had the plain cards in the front, for the scraps and dents, and then there were these cards. The special cards each had a personal digital signature to them basically vouching for the mech that came in. After all, one could never be too careful when hiding things from Autobots. Primus forbid if they found out war-builds were intermixing their CNA with the general population. Oh the horror.

Taking the card, he immediately could tell that this came from Wavelength. He was a mech that worked in the security division for spacebridges. He was an aged mech with a few young-bots that were all grown up and set loose onto the world. He lost his sparkmate not long after. He had been a bleeding-spark ever since then, trying to help others like himself while sneaking materials in for Breakdown's clinic.

Everything Breakdown used wasn't exactly legal on Cybertron after all.

Nodding his head at the card, the blue medic immediately dropped his taunt shoulders. He didn't exactly trust the older healer before him, but he said warmly, “Ah, one of my cards from Wavelength. Good mech. Though I find it strange that another medic is coming to me … especially when you could do the work yourself.”

Ratchet bristled at that, his denta grinding. “I would never disfigure a sparkling like you.”

Breakdown frowned in turn, optics going bright. He wasn't in the mood for a verbal lashing on medical ethics, but he wasn't going to stand there and say nothing. “Well, someone has to do it, old timer. Would you rather more sparklings be abandoned on the streets because they have red or orange optics? They will starve if they don't move off planet. I've even heard that some mechs collect those unwanted sparks and sell them off-world as slaves or to-be soldiers. That is one reason Megatron's colonies have thrived: New Kaon and the Lost Colonies. They are filled with the Autobot's _rejects_. The lucky ones end up in places like Docker City. The _lucky_ ones. So if you have come here to lecture me about medical ethics, you can leave. I keep families together. Can you say that much?”

Despite himself, Ratchet started somewhat. W-what? He didn't know half breeds were being sold off planet. And what of these Lost Colonies? He had heard the Decepticon's had banned together after Megatron's capture, but they were actually functioning colonies with … the Autobot rejects?

No, that couldn't be. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but voice his thoughts aloud. “I’ve seen a lot. I think I would know something like that was going on.”

“That’s the thing,” snapped the larger bot. “Autobots don’t give a frag about your lessers, because you feel that there has to be a lesser class so that your glimmering towers have purpose! What use are the rich if they don’t have someone to stand on?! Now, if you worked here with your lessers instead of the elites, you might know that.”

Ratchet was silent for a moment as if he was listening to the larger bot’s enraged words. Only when there was the silence of panting vents did he dare speak, his words grinding like stones. “Listen here kid. I worked on a repair crew. This glossy shine and upgrades are all new if only to keep me from rusting out. I have two younglings to take care of. So, now are you going to help me make sure they are both happy and well cared for or are you going to continue to spout nonsense?”

Breakdown, a bit surprised with the reply, grumbled, “It’s not nonsense …”

Ratchet, nodded bitterly, was about to turn around and leave when the larger bot added, “But I never said I wouldn’t help you. I take it you know what you want already or you wouldn't be here. How about you come into one of the exam rooms and we discuss it.”

Standing there a moment, part of himself telling him to leave while he had the chance, Ratchet stepped forward.

...

“Wow … when she get’s bigger, she’s going to be a bombshell,” said Breakdown when he got a hold of a schematic on Sari.

Ratchet glared.

Breakdown chuckled, catching onto the older mech’s anger. “Not like that, old timer. I mean she probably will be a looker, but she will literally be a walking tank when she gets older. Not all of her battle systems are even online yet and it looks like she could take a chunk out of you … and yet … is that organic tissue?”

Slowly, Ratchet nodded. He expected for the rough medic to cringe away. Instead, he merely mumbled, “Never worked on a techno-organic before. They are pretty rare. What exactly do you want me to do with her to help her blend? I mean I could easily offline the battle programs, lock or remove the blades and switch-out the glide-wings, but as for the organic tissue … I mean, maybe a light acid could eat it away.”

Nearly jumping to his feet, Ratchet barked, “You will do no such thing to her!”

Putting his hands up, used to angry creators, Breakdown tried to placate the other. “Alright, alright. Calm down. I can’t even find her spark chamber anyway so its likely not a good idea. Her spark energy is probably bouncing around through her nervous system like electricity. Though … something seems to be forming right around the big muscle in the chest cavity. That might be it.”

Ratchet, resetting his optic, forgot his rage and looked closer. Blazes, the unruly medic was right. When did that happen? Was that just from the medical grade he had been giving her? Is that why she had been acting famished today? There were small amounts of crystal in the medical grade to help heal spark casing damage or to thicken the chamber, but for her body to make such quick work of it … the Allspark certainly knew what it was doing.

“That wasn’t there the last time I checked. I’ll have to add more crystals to her diet,” grumbled the old mech.

Nodding, Breakdown added, “Well, we might not even have to worry about her organic half. Her body might just adapt to where it’s at. If it will be painful for her as its does away with the organic systems, I don’t know. It matters if she ends up as a pretender-alt mode or not. The medics at Docker City might know. They deal with a lot of oddities.”

Ratchet's spark couldn't help but twitch at the thought of Sari’s skin slowly peeling off her face. And what was a pretender-alt? He nearly jumped out of his armor when a large hand patted his own. Pah. He was a medic. He didn’t need to be cosset like a normal patient.

He couldn’t help but pull his hand away, frowning.

Breakdown merely smiled though. Then, pulling out a digi-pad of his own while plugging it into Ratchet’s digi-pad, he started a medical file for Sari. The large mech asked, “So, what is the femme’s name and when can you bring her in? Anything else I should know for this medical file? Also, what exactly do you want done at this point?”

Swallowing, part of him uncertain why he was still speaking to the _Butcher_ at all, Ratchet started in. “There’s two of them actually. Sari is the femme. She was raised by an organic named Issac Sumdac. Apparently she scanned him, the Allspark was involved and most of the finer details escaped us. I’ll do my best though.”

Ratchet then went into as much detail as he could. Autobot command didn't even know about most of these things. It had been a unanimous decision because Ratchet didn't want Sari to end up in the Autobot Military Science Division. Ratchet … did not trust them. So, for the first time, details of Sari's life came to light to someone outside of the repair crew's team. He told the mech of a little organic girl that found out about her connection to the Allspark and then discovered she wasn’t actually an organic at all. He even told Breakdown about her fool-hardy drive to upgrade herself and how Jazz had stopped her from damaging herself and fatally stabbing Bumblebee. He even told the mech about the passage of time and her lack of organic maturity.

Breakdown had stopped typing on his digi-pad ages ago, his lip curled into a confused sneer.

“Regardless,” continued Ratchet. “Sumdac couldn't take care of Sari any longer. He was dying. Should have died long again. So he built himself a Cybertronian body and using the Allspark key, he tried to transform the electricity in his brain into a spark … but there was a fire.”

Ratchet was silent for a moment as he thought of the soft cooling flesh of Issac as he had picked the body out of the machinery. He would never forget how human eyes turned white and void like snow killing off the life of the world. He hadn't mourned the human ... not yet. Not when there was Reboot.

Swallowing, his intakes feeling dry. The older mech added, “A spark did form. I do not know if he’s Sumdac … or something else. Regardless, with that body, he will be treated little more than a child so he is my responsibility now as well.”

Breakdown just looked confused.

Ratchet felt pressed to continue as the large medic continued to stare at him. “So, basically, as I am sure you know, I have to form a caretaker bond in order to be their care giver … I don’t even know if either one can form a bond honestly. So I need fake documentation for that. I also need door wing attachments for Sari to hide her wing nubs. Something for her face obviously. Maybe some kind of holo-transmitter. I won’t even go into the alt-mode question yet. She's too young anyway to have one by Cybertronian standards.”

Breakdown still looked confused. He hadn't even moved since he had stopped typing.

Ratchet just felt irritable now, but couldn’t help but ask, “Hey, did you hear me-“

Breakdown put up a hand and stated, “Wait, wait, wait … just wait … wait.”

Ratchet sat there a moment watching that yellow optic flicker. Wait? He knew that look. “Breakdown? Are your logic centers about to … well … breakdown?”

The large blue mech waved his hands in front of the older mech as if collecting his thoughts before stating, “Nope, nope, nope. Silence. Wait, wait. My logic centers are freaking out a little. Just … wait … wait. Okay, no … wait. Alright. Mmm. No. Yes. _There.”_

The blue mech signed, his optic stalling in its flickering. “The Primus-fairytail was cute, but it nearly shut me down. I was listening with my medical programming when you started. It almost overwhelmed my logic center. Now, what really happened?”

Ratchet now looked irritated. “That's what really happened, slagger.”

Sitting there a moment, the blue mech got up, opened a drawer with a handheld scanner in it and was suddenly in the older bot's face, a scanning light glancing over his optics and helm.

“What the pit!” barked Ratchet, feeling the medical scans try to asses the status of his CPU for overheating or cold offline spots. He knew immediately what Breakdown had scanned for. “My CPU is not damaged!”

“Well, you sound raving mad, old bot. You sure you aren't going senile. Now, let me scan you? Hold still,” said Breakdown as he tried to scan the old mech again.

Ratchet, a crafted medic unlike the upgraded medic before him and thus had more internal medical equipment, threw out a scan from his chevron, canceling out the privacy invading scan. Breakdown, at first looked offended and then glared. He was used to troublesome patients and medics always made the worst patients.

“You are going to let me scan you, old-bot,” growled the ex-Con trying to use his bulk to look intimidating.

Ratchet huffed and merely stood up, poking the large mech in the chassis. “You are the one that nearly had the breakdown a klick ago. You should sit down and let me scan you. This clinic is barely up to standards and all the equipment is outdated. You probably have a smart-virus or a CPU injury from that missing optic. You sit down and let me scan you.”

Breakdown balked and thought of the image of Knock Out he had seen about three solar-cycles ago. He seriously considered saying yes to the older medic, but this was _his_ clinic and pride wouldn't allow him to accept such things. Instead, when the old Autobot started throwing a scan over him, he waved his hands in front of the other, throwing out a low rang of electrical interference in front of the chevron and messing with the results.

Ratchet scoffed and glared at the upgraded medical hands. Breakdown's hands were obviously lower quality compared to a created-medic that was born with his sensitive array in their hands, but the challenge was still there. Breakdown was basically saying he would not be backing down and that he was the superior medic here.

So, taking the challenge to prove himself the better surgeon, Ratchet slapped the sensitive blue hands away while throwing out a low EM pulse-scan with his chevron. Basically, if he was able to temporarily short out the other medic's sensors or hands, he would prove he was better qualified to be the head surgeon at a table. Usually, this type of hierarchy was already set up in hospitals or clinics, but on the field or on the street this could happen if one healer didn't actively relent. Thus, the more skilled hands were given control over the situation and the lower healer would act as an assistant.

Generally, Ratchet wouldn't dream of challenging another medic in his own clinic, but since there was a possibility of the other medic glitching, he accepted the challenge gladly.

Breakdown, his hands twitching in pain from the unexpected by truly harmless assault, almost pulled his hands to his chassis to protect them only to stall two thirds of the way when he realized that he had almost relented so easily.

Instead, the blue mech frowned, his hands becoming fists. “Really? Did you just challenge me in my own clinic? What are you two vorns old or something?”

Frowning, folding his hands over his chassis, Ratchet gripped, “I did, and you are younger than me. There's obviously something wrong with you if a story like that almost froze up your medical coding. Let me look at it? When was the last time you had a real medic look at you anyway instead of just scanning yourself? I know every medic hates it, but sometimes you need to have another medic scan your system for smart-viruses. So when did you have your last real scan?”

Breakdown huffed, pride battling with his medical programming. His programming was agreeing with Ratchet, especially since he had almost relented to the born-healer's skill. It had been a while … like since Knock Out. His medical programming wasn't exactly legal after all.

He had been a heavy-hitter before. He knew how to take a hit and keep coming. He wanted to brawl and fight. He hated this medical equipment sometimes because now his hands were technically delicate. Not as say Knock Out's, but he quickly learned to offline the sensors in his hands if he was going to start a fight … Not that most Autobots would even dream of starting a fight with a medic even if he was bigger than most of them. He hated Autobot hierarchy crap sometimes.

Squaring his shoulders, expression grim, Breakdown sent an EM flash back at Ratchet while slapping away those pair of hands. True, he wasn't a born-medic, he was upgraded into one in order to survive Autobot culture, but he was still younger than the old medic. He was sure he was better than some polished geezer.

Ratchet barely twitched this time, shaking his helm. “I see you haven't done many if any of these before, but do you really want to turn this into a bitch fight?”

Breakdown didn't really know what a bitch fight was, it was probably something from this _Earth_ place, but he still glared defiantly. He nearly yip when Ratchet slapped his hands again, the EM burst biting and nearly making him physically cringe away as he resisted the urge to yield again.

Frag, that one hurt like the pit and the sensors in his hands nearly caused his optic to white-out from the sheer overwhelming backlash of data. Why were medical hands so sensitive?!

“Well? You getting on the berth or are we going again?” said Ratchet, his biting EM field just wanting to lash out again.

There was suddenly a ping at the back door though making both Ratchet and Breakdown jump. Breakdown almost sighed in relief.

He really didn't want to be shown-up in his own clinic. It would be degrading for one.

Glaring at the older medic, bring his medical hands close to his chest, Breakdown slowly turned his head and looked in the direction of the back door for a moment. It pinged a few mores times in insistence making the larger medic frown. He glared at the puffed up older medic before grumbling, “We aren't done with this discussion, but I have another patient.”

Then, before the older bot could argue with him, he opened and shut the examination door in his face.

Stalking down the hall, his sensitive hands twitching, the ex-Con frowned. Given the time of night someone was likely in the throws of labor or needed an abortion. He cringed at the thought of a hard night and threw a look back at the closed door. The rooms were sound proof, he needed them to be with the crying sparklings, but would it be enough for another medic’s programs not to hear the screams of a pained labor?

Probably not and he really didn't need hand slapping in between someone's legs when they were in the throws of labor.

Praying it was something stupid or easy he quickly opened the door and if he wasn't as large as he was, he would have been barreled over, a mech all but clamoring at him.

“Breakdown I need your help,” whined Sentinel, his fans sputtering as the young alma struggled not to sob, his sparkling all but crying hard enough for both of them. Breakdown had never seen the little mech this broken up.

Quickly supporting the blue frame, wondering if it was Sentinel or Echo that was in trouble, he asked, “What's wrong Sentinel? Is it your spark? Echos? What's wrong. Just vent. Even I can see you are going to overheat if you don't calm down.”

Ignoring his physician, the air hot from his panicking engine, Sentinel stammered over his crying sparkling's clicks. “They found out about Echo. I-I'm leaving. I need some medicine for Echo and maybe some pain medicine for me. My chassis really hurts and … and I can't cool down, but I need to go. I don't care if I have to move onto an organic infested colony. T-they are not taking Echo.”

Not liking the way Sentinel's optics were blinking like he was about to crash. Breakdown tried to calm the younger mech. “Vent Sentinel. You are going to overheat. Now, what s going on? Who is going to take Echo? Why?”

Shaking his head, a sob in his vents, Sentinel all but barked, “Everyone! Now, just give me what I need so I can leave.”

Frowning, wondering if Sentinel had worked himself into this panicked mess, he turned his helm to the sobbing sparkling. Echo looked terrified and with his weak spark, that was not ill advised. It could cause the sparkling to go into arrest.

Deciding he had to intervene now, Breakdown motioned towards the sparkling. “Sentinel, give me Echo. I need to check his spark activity.”

Pressing backwards as if hit. Sentinel shook his head and looked ready to bolt. “N-no.”

Puffing up his armor, the blue medic threw some authority into his voice. “Yes, you will. You are terrifying him! His spark can't take the stress and neither can yours.”

Half hysterical, probably having ran half the way here. Sentinel almost sobbed, “You don't understand. Jazz, the others, they saw Echo. They _saw_ him. I have to leave the planet. Tonight.”

Putting his large hands out, Breakdown all but demanded. “Give me Echo, Sentinel Minor. Now before you hurt him or yourself. Give me him!”

Blue optics confused and hurt, terrified and yet trusting, he slowly handed over a bawling Echo with servos shaking.

Being removed from his parent-spark's clutches, the sparkling suddenly squalled, clawing and hiccuping for his creator. Surprised by the sudden desperation, Breakdown tried to coo the sparking, the EM fields in his hands lightly tickling down the sparkling's back as he tried to sooth the smaller being. Echo couldn't take this stress. It had been too soon since his latest donation. This wasn't good for him. Not at all. Neither of them were in any condition for large amounts of stress like this. Frag, what had happened? He knew Echo's emotions were based strongly on Sentinel's. What was Sentinel so afraid of?

Ratchet, apparently hearing the sparkling's desperation, nearly hurtled out of the room, his medical programs roaring online. He expect gore or horror or Breakdown ripping a pair of wing nubs off with his bare servos. Instead, what he saw made him stall. There was Sentinel Minor face showing signs of tears, a bag upon his shoulder, his entire form desperate and taunt. Then there was Breakdown … a bawling sparking or an immature youngling in his arms. The poor thing was nearly a copy of Sentinel and it was wailing and reaching for Sentinel with a spark-wrenching desperation.

Looking back and forth, part of him not wanting to know what was going on, Ratchet said the first thing that came to mind, “Sentinel, what are you doing here?”

Sentinel, shaking his head as if in complete horror, suddenly seemed to be overcome by his surgery, his secrets and his stress. Breakdown, about to ask how the two knew each other, barely had time to reach out with his spare arm to try to grapple the collapsing ex-Prime when his systems final gave out. In fact, the large mech nearly fell to the floor as he tried to grasp the sudden collapsing weight and the wailing sparkling in his arms.

Ratchet, unable to look away from the scene, finally seemed to snap out of it. He quickly came forward and took the sparkling from the overcome medic, trying to shush the youngling. His EM scans were already picking up an erratic and weak spark-beat … yet he couldn't look away from the youngling's face. Even scrunched up and bawling like his creator had just died on the floor, little arms reaching out, Ratchet could see just how much that little face … looked like Optimus Prime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is soooo long. I even cut stuff out for the next chapter. No surprise really. I got my geek on with Sari’s techno-organic form. Part of me just wants to write a separate body-horror fic about her growing up … Maybe later as a separate story. Then there was the medic bitch fight scene. That just came out of nowhere … and it was perfect. Makes me giggle every time I re-read it. I also now have a head-cannon medic hierarchy thing going on. I blame the fic Rebuilding the Castle by GhostHost for the idea ever forming. 
> 
> As for Sentinel, he finally couldn't take the stress anymore. And now Ratchet knows. What will Ratchet do? Will he do anything? Is he just too fraggen old for this crap? Or should I just make this a Sentinel/Ratchet fic like Peace Treaties and be done with it? XD 
> 
> Anyway, next chapter we get a new character introduction and we might even seen an old friend we all thought was gone. >.>


	31. The Butcher's Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-Klik: second ; Klik: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Joor: day ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.

Ratchet would have stood there frozen for eternity, looking at those little optics. They were mirrors of Optimus' in depth and color. He might have even glitched from the surprise of it all if the youngling hadn't suddenly clung to him like a dying mech, pulling him back to reality.

“P-p-please,” came young vocals, static nearly drowning out any words. “H-help my-y alma. Ppppplease.”

Pulling the little mech into his chassis, unable to look at that little face a moment more without gut wrenching guilt, regret and self-loathing drowning out every medical program he owned, Ratchet turned his attention to Breakdown. The larger mech struggling to pull himself up along with all of Sentinel's dead weight. The other medic didn't even cringe as Ratchet threw a scan over the two of them, too focused on Sentinel.

The younger medic's tone was entirely too clam though … like he saw this coming.

“His spark beat is erratic and his EM field is stressed and incoherent. We need to get him into a medical berth … both of them actually.”

Finally getting to his feet, Breakdown lifted the blue Minor up into his servos, his engine slightly taxed as he spoke, “Take Echo to exam room one. Check his spark. It nearly guttered out when he was born and has always been weak. He needs spark-flux donations to keep a steady spark-beat. I gave him one barely three joors ago. Nonetheless, please check his spark chamber and give the poor thing a mild sedative while I take Sentinel to exam room two. I will deal with him there.”

Ratchet, clicking to the sparkling and EM field bleeding forward and entwining the little thing, watched as the blue medic marched into exam room two. The door shutting with a loud click behind him, hiding the Minor. Forcing himself to look away, Ratchet petted the back of that small helm as the sparkling wailed loudly and tried to not be insulted that the other medic had shut the door behind himself.

Pushing away the thought, Ratchet tried to step back and collect himself. He couldn't dwell on the obvious right now if he wanted to be an effective medic. He couldn't dwell on … who this little mechling's sire might be when the alma was so obvious. Instead, he needed to concentrate on the small form in a medical manner. So, reserve pulling medical programs up instead of emotional circuits, he quickly headed to the other exam room. He clicked a few more moments before finally putting the small body down onto the medical berth, EM field washing over the small form in a comforting way.

“There, there, little one. Can you try to calm down for old Ratchet?” said the medic, his words almost an admonition. “I know you are scared, but your … alma … can’t take any more stress right now. Not even through the creation bond. Can you try to vent for me and be strong for him? Can you be strong for your alma?”

Little engine hiccuping, helm nodding as he tried to vent, the youngling struggled valiantly to calm himself.

Nodding, glad the little mech knew how to listen, Ratchet quickly opened some subspace cabinets. He tried not to grouse at the disarray of the place. Personally, he felt there was no order to this place and the equipment he needed was either in shambles or older than him. The EMFR looked like it was held together by magnets and Earthling duck tape. He sighed at that and hooked the somewhat calmer youngling into the medical berth. The berth, thankfully, seemed to be fully functioning if not an older model. The EMFR, though grizzly looking, seemed to be functioning just fine as well.

He would give Breakdown that. He seemed more like a medical equipment specialist than a fully trained medic with the way he was keeping things together. In fact, he seemed more the assistant type than an Unit Head caring for his own clinic. He was a mystery that Ratchet wanted to unveil … especially now that Sentinel seemed deeply intertwined somehow with the blue healer.

Watching the holo-screen over the medical berth pop up and come online, the aging medic watched it for a moment before he threw another chevron scan over the youngling that was still hiccuping but trying his darnedest to gather himself. Ratchet could already tell that the youngling was a good kid.

 _'Just like Optimus,'_ came a wayward thought that Ratchet quickly squashed. He needed to concentrate on the here and now.

Placing a hand against the youngling's back, Ratchet's sensitive hands picked up vibrations from the young engine. Good, it was calming down. Still hot, but getting the sparkling away from Sentinel was the best thing Breakdown could have done.

“Alright, very good, young-bot. You are really helping your alma by calming down. If your spark is composed it may calm your carrier down as well, okay?” said Ratchet as he ran a soothing servo down the youngling's back, trying not to look for more features that were Optimus’. Frag, the kid sure looked like his alma. He did have a few splashes of silver like kind of reminded Ratchet of Optimus, but the sparkling was all Sentinel. He even had the same earfins. He was … well … he was adorable, but thankfully he didn’t have Sentinel’s chin. It was still prominent, but it obviously took some coding from _elsewhere_.

Swallowing, telling himself he shouldn’t be making deductions without supporting evidence, Ratchet turned back to the dreaded cabinets. He needed a different type of scanner … something that could make digital copies for reference. He need to make a digital copy of the sparkling's spark … in order to compare it to Optimus' spark signature. He could also make sure the young-spark was stable at the same time.

Digging through the cabinets, finding an attachment for the EMFR reader that could take digital scans for medical reports, he turned back to the small mech. He eyed him for a moment looking for any signs of a hysterical relapse. After all … his questions had to be careful right now. Just a few.

“So,” said Ratchet warmly, coming forward, EMFR scanner firmly in hand as he started powering it up. “Echo is your name huh?”

The youngling nodded suddenly seeming shy as he looked away.

Frag, kid was adorable.

Smiling a little warmer, EM field projecting calm feelings and trust, he continued, “That's a good name. And, Breakdown's your usual medic?”

Floundering slightly, somehow pushing away his bashfulness, the small mech choked, “Y-yes, he's me and alma's medic. H-he and alma argue sometimes, but he always makes me better … e-especially my spark. He gives me a lot of medicines though. I don't always like those.”

Nodding, nearly thanking Primus verbally when Breakdown finally sent him Echo's medical file by comm ping. Ratchet nearly wept in thankfulness … just what he needed. Not only for Echo's immediate care, but for future reference if he needed it. He was already making a copy.

Just skimming it, Ratchet couldn't help but cringe. Poor thing. How many pain killers and medications did Breakdown have him on? It looked like he just made a condensed medical cube to encompass it all. Well, the kid seemed coherent and actually was on his own feet, so the blue medic was doing something right.

Turning back to the small mech, storing away a reminder to ask Breakdown where he learned to mix medical cubes like that for it was a sought after skill by Unit Heads, Ratchet waved off the question, “Now, little mech, can you lay down and open your chassis for old Ratchet? I just want to take a peek and make sure you are alright. Okay?”

Frowning, the young mech sat there a moment before slowly nodding. Ratchet even helped him lay down an astro-klik later allowing the small mech to push at his EM field questioningly before retreating and pulling his EM back in close. Kid was intuitive and yet seemingly weary at the same time … like he hadn't been around many bots before. Not surprising … given Sentinel's rambling about someone finding out about the youngling. Just how sheltered was the poor thing?

Pressing off the thought for another time, Ratchet carefully released the locks on that blue little chassis. A small click soon filled the room as Echo usefully opened his own chassis. Ratchet tried to keep his vents from catching … as he was greeted by a golden spark. It was like the final nail in the coffin as Sumdac had once said. Where Echo looked very little like his alma, his spark was a golden copy of Optimus'.

His sire. It … had to be.

Swallowing that thought for later, Ratchet focused on the weak little thing. The spark was small, even for Echo's age, but it was fighting. It refused to give up. A fighter this little spark was.

Just like his creators it would seem.

Scanning the spark, watching the little thing's pace grow a little calmer with each passing klik, the medic couldn't help but frown. Usually, for younglings or weak sparks receiving spark-flux donations, there was a bit of color corruption. Now, it wasn't something that truly harmed the spark, but generally a spark receiving donations wasn't one consecutive color. There would be splashes of red, pink, orange, blue or any color really. It depended on the donor. Basically, whatever color of spark that was donated would stain the receiver. A parent spark, if giving a donation, was generally fully absorbed since the spark recognized it, but a donation was never fully absorbed. The color would actually burn off in time.

Echo's spark though … not one taint of color. It was a pure deep gold, with maybe just a touch of blue. Likely Sentinel's color.

Ratchet grimaced. Now, that didn't make sense. Breakdown even said that he was giving Echo spark-flux donations. It said so in the medical files as well. Why wasn't there any color corruption? Even if all the donations were from golden sparks -unlikely at best- there would at least be slightly darker splotches here and there, deeper shades of gold.

Since there weren't any stains … where were all the donations coming from? And why didn't the medical file say? There were serial numbers for those type of donations. They were tracked.

A thought hit him like a semi truck … Sentinel's continual sickness suddenly making sense. No. No. No! Sentinel wasn't donating from himself, was he? It was fine for a parent to do so, yes, but not too often. A sparkling was already feeding off of their parent's bond. Even an adult spark could only take so much stress.

Swallowing thickly, recalling Optimus' words of worry about Sentinel's health, he clicked the small chassis shut. He gave the youngling a smile that made his jaw ache with its lie. He then grabbed a small cube, a sedative finding itself quickly in the glowing liquid.

It seemed an eternity for the youngling to drink his energon and fall into recharge, spark weak but skipping calmly along. Then, once his scanners were telling him the youth was stable, Ratchet all but barged into the other exam room, nearly making Breakdown jump as he finished hooking up what was obviously a spark support machine.

“How stupid are you?!” snapped Ratchet as he stomped across the room, glaring at the blue mech on the other side of Sentinel's now offline form, the ex-Prime's chassis open and throwing pale blue light all around the room. “You will kill him taking spark donations from him! If he dies, given how weak the youngling's spark is, they both die!”

Breakdown immediately bristled, EM field lashing out slightly as he snapped back, “Do you think I don't know that?! I am not blind old mech! And don't even start lecturing me about legal spark-flux donations! Those are heavily regulated and basically put single mechs and femme on a list of obligatory bonding. Some might see that as fine and good, but Sentinel isn't some single middle class creator that can find a good match. He was Magnus … he made enemies.”

The next words hit the older medic like a shot to the spark.

“You know they'll accuse him of Decepticon relations if he doesn't give up the sire. And honestly, given that he refuses to even speak of the sire, I can't say for certain it wasn't a Decepticon,” said Breakdown, glare so intense Ratchet was almost tempted to look away. “And Sentinel would rather deactivate before the day he allows someone to call his little Echo a half breed.”

Frowning, part of knowing that some mechs would do that to Sentinel if they for petty revenge, Ratchet shook his helm. “It doesn't change the fact that you are killing him. Frag, did you even tell him what could happen?”

Optic dimming in irritation, the blue mech went back to his tools, setting each down a little more violently than needed. “You think I didn't tell him? He bloody well knows. And before you ask, I did it regardless because I knew that if I didn't do it … he would get someone else to do it. Somebot that didn't care if he and his sparkling deactivated. I at least try to keep the donation as small as possible and I try to encourage rest and … sexual relations.”

The blue medic then added in a soft grumble, “Not that he listens to the last one.”

Nodding, knowing the pride of Sentinel Minor all to well, Ratchet agreed, “I don't doubt that. It still doesn't make what you have done right, kid … but lets see the damage. No point in wallowing about it.”

Breakdown glared the _kid_ comment, honestly preferring _butcher_ , but he said nothing as he opened the chassis further for the aging medic. Just looking at the old red and white ambulance, there was no doubt in his mind that he was still a young thing compared to Ratchet. Ratchet had probably been pushing it when the war began. Breakdown … had been barely a few vorns old. Knock Out was honestly older than him as well … still didn't mean he was a kid though.

Shrugging off the insult, Breakdown allowed the older medic to come closer.

Ratchet immediately sighed not even bothering with his internal scanners when he looked down at the blue orb. The spark was ... scarred. You could tell just from a glance. It was stressed and agitated as well. Sentinel could offline from this. He honestly needed to share his spark with some-bot and take some charge off of theirs in order to stabilize his own. It wouldn't be a complete fix, a straight-lace medic would encourage getting a new bonded. Not that he saw that happening either. Given whatever happened during the Soundwave incident, Sentinel obvious now had an aversion to sexual contact now.

Nonetheless, there was something else that could be done.

Scanning the spark once just to confirm his suspicions, he titled his head to the other medic. “We can give him a spark-flux donation. It won't be as good as spark sharing, but it will at least get him out of the red and buy him some time.”

Hands twitching, Breakdown nearly snarled, “Didn't we just have the spark-flux argument?! Even a reputable medical just can't walk into a clinic and ask for some. They would need to know the medical facility, the patient, and the spark defect at the bare minimum. That is not going to happen without throwing Sentinel under the bus!”

Then, voice almost soft, the bulky medic added, “He trusts me … And dare I say it, I think I'm the closest thing he has to a friend on this planet right now. I won't do that to him.”

Engine rumbling slightly in irritation, the older medic grumbled, “Well, if you consider him a friend in turn, you should put his well being before his pride. So, I ask you _butcher_ , what are you going to do about it?”

Optic blinking at the _butcher_ comment, unsure now if he preferred _kid_ or _butcher_ given the amount of resentment Ratchet used in the latter, Breakdown decided to ignore it for now and quickly searched his programming for possible treatments. He picked one that had been used before spark-flux donations existed. “An energon expedient, berth rest, minor electrical treatments to the spark chamber, and offlining all unneeded systems until his spark can recover.”

Huffing, knowing that old treatment too well from the war, Ratchet waved a servo in irritation. “And what about when he wants to go to work or, more importantly, when little Echo needs another donation? That ain't going to work, young-bot. He needs a spark-flux donation or one hell of a good fragging.”

“Well,” barked Breakdown, his EM field flaring dangerously as the medic poked at his temper. “You going to get on top of him then? You going to take his spark and valve like he's a whore-bot? Are you going to do that to him?! Don't think I haven't offered, his confidant, to frag him and he's still turned me down. I am not forcing him through something … that might hurt him.”

Breakdown quickly looked away. Pit. He said too much and now his lack of medical professionalism was showing as well. A fully trained medic would have just fraggen done something for Sentinel… not pussy footed his way around the issue. The silence that followed was almost deafening. The blue medic, short of running out of his own clinic, would have done almost anything to escape it.

“So,” said Ratchet carefully, optics search for the smallest of micro expressions from the makeshift medic's body or EM field. “He said he was raped? Did he … say by who? Where? How?”

Sighing, hating himself for offering to do a consultation for another medic and now this was happening, Breakdown bitterly admitted, “I … honestly don't know. Given his aversion to sex, it at least was a negative experience like a drunk party night or borderline date-rape. I … think it might have been partially consensual given he kept Echo and seems to be keeping it mostly together. Tonight was honestly the worst I've ever seen him. And, honestly, the kid seems one hundred percent Autobot. I haven't seen a lick of Con programming or features in him. So I can't say for certain and Sentinel has never felt inclined to give me details.”

Ratchet nodded … slightly irritated he had no further answers. Even a hint of what exactly happened that night with Soundwave would have been better than nothing. He didn't want to ask the source, but he felt that there wasn't going to be any other way.

That wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to.

Nonetheless, they had current problems. Ratchet wiped down his face, interrupting the growing silence. “Even so kid, we need a donation … And I think the answer is right in front of me.”

Ratchet then made a show of it, walking around Sentinel's slowly stabilizing form and right up to the taller mech. He even motioned with his hands for him to open his chassis as he verbally added, “Open up. We'll see how healthy your spark is first. Given the size of your frame and _past occupation_ … I'm sure its rather large and probably could give two or three donations with few ramifications.”

Lip curling in disgust, Breakdown drew back a little, irritation making his plates pull tight. “This is my clinic, old mech. I should be the one collecting the donation, not you. I can't afford to be down for a joor or even half a joor after a spark-flux donation. I have patients to attend to.”

“Do you?” growled Ratchet, his chevron crackling slightly with a building charge. “I don't even know if you have an actual license or for that matter, _legal_ medical programs. The treatment you just recommended has been outdated since the end of the war.”

Breakdown wanted to flare his plating, beat the Autobot down and then throw the fragger out, but his medical programs were going haywire the longer he was around the cranky old medic. The challenge to be Unit Head, the superior medic in a team, was still causing his programming to war against his will. It wanted to relent, to get his systems scanned and to update … It wanted to update so badly. Another medic could offer that. And it had been such a long time since ... Knock Out had gone.

“Don't make me challenge you, Breakdown,” grumbled Ratchet, breaking through the din of Breakdown's thoughts.

Optic's going bright, Breakdown's struts going straight, the blue seemed to battle with himself … and then he slapped Ratchet's hands away.

Ratchet almost smirked at the challenge.

...

“Frag, is all of your equipment older than me?” groused Ratchet as he followed the larger mech into the rooms downstairs, tool tray in hand , down into Breakdown's living quarters. The clinic only had two fully furnished exam rooms and two fold out berths just in case. For such a delicate procedure and given the rest Breakdown would need _afterwards_ … Ratchet felt this procedure best be done in his own berth.

“It is all I have. I have to make a lot of my tools. After all, my clinic doesn't make enough money nor have enough clients for anything better,” … _and my license barely passes as legal,'_ thought Breakdown as he slowly made his way to his berth across the main room, light cascading across the floor for the first time all day.

His quarters really weren't much honestly. The most decorative piece was his shelf of digi-pads and a sparring dummy he hadn't used in ages given his now-sensative hands. The whole room was open and was almost spartan in its emptiness, except for some mementos strewn about. He … had kept what he could of Knock Out's things. Despite himself, he looked at the item he cherished most. It was a decorative box that held what remained of Knock Out's detailing paints: golds, reds, blacks … and a few blues just for Breakdown. Suddenly, he regretted allowing the older medic down here even if he did need a secure place to lie down. He should have just used the floor. Not only was he baring his spark to another for the first time in countless vorns. He was also baring his most private place. His living quarters. It was his sanctuary where he waited in his bitter hope to ever see Knock Out again.

Ratchet frowned, grunting through his vents, oblivious to Breakdown's inner turmoil. “I will admit I'm impressed with your resourcefulness if you are indeed building most of these tools, but you need to go through the proper channels for some of these parts. I know you want to keep off the grid, but you shouldn't be working like this. No wonder they call you the butcher. In fact, I … can help you with some connections if you want.”

Breakdown, turning away from his berth, glared at the other medic as he came up behind him. Besides, himself, his hands pulled in closer to his form, his plates pulling close. What was he supposed to say? His medical license and programs were a lie? Knock Out had gotten them off of a dead medic during the war after all. It passed enough too open a clinic early on, but he would never be able to get any grants. Iacon Medical Board would see the holes in his license and training a mile away.

Noticing that Breakdown's hands were pulling close, the older medic immediately sighed and put down the tools on the berth-stand next to the recharge slab.

“I'm sorry about the earlier EM field. I'll look at your hands quick to make sure they are re-calibrating correctly,” the next words almost pained the Autobot to admit. “I was angry you weren't relenting and I didn't mean to use that setting. It wasn't meant to short out your hand's and chevron so severely. Now, please get onto the berth. I would like to scan your systems first before taking spark-flux donations … but given Sentinel's condition. Its best we do that now.”

Grunting in acceptance, Breakdown reluctantly crawled onto his berth and onto his back. He tried not to twitch as Ratchet stepped over him. He suddenly felt completely mortified about what was to come. Breakdown couldn't even get his chassis to unlock. If Ratchet noticed though, he hadn't commented on it. _Yet_.

“Alright, lets look at those hands first. No arguments,” said Ratchet as he carefully picked up the slightly bigger servo. Breakdown's servos were beautiful work honestly even if they were a bit bulky and made for taking a beating. Likely, these hands were upgraded long ago, probably right before the end of the war. The hands, though entirely functional, seemed to be wired oddly like the medic that had done the work wasn't officially trained. Not too surprising … most Con medics were self-trained after all. And there was no doubt what side Breakdown had been on during the war.

Pushing a warm EM field into his hands, he immediately started running his fingers over the small joining plates in those servos. Breakdown, in turn, immediately tightened in reaction. Ratchet knew the touch was probably more intimate that the blue mech expected, but in real medical facilities, especially on small colonies or ships, this is something a true Unit Head would do. A Unit Head needed to be reassuring and yet grounding to reduce panic and errors in their medical team, like a finely tuned clock. And Breakdown, with how taunt his hands were, likely had never interacted with a real Head or another medic in such a way. Not surprising, Ratchet doubted that Decepticon medics taught lessons through calming reassurance.

Regardless, if this hand treatment went on for too long or with the right tweeking, such an action would slowly become arousing. Generally, he would never work another medic up to that point, but since he would be overloading Breakdown's spark a few times tonight to get his spark-flux donations … it was best to get started now.

So slowly, feeling out the design of the hands, Ratchet soothed away any of the too-harsh slaps he had inflicted on them earlier. Breakdown had honestly lasted quite a while until he finally bleated out in pain and pulled his hands close to his chassis. He hadn't even wanted Ratchet to touch them even though he had asked repeatedly up to this point.

Honestly, it had been such an odd feeling to win and then assigning himself as a Unit Head, especially since he wasn't even technically part of the clinic. He knew he shouldn't even be investing time in this _butcher_ , but this was for Sari and Reboot and … now little Echo. And, if he was truthful with himself, after speaking with Breakdown it was obvious that the blue needed some help as well. Ratchet, personally, had been looking for something more to do with his time than teach cadets first aid. Maybe he should stay in this little clinic, actually become the Unit Head. Maybe he could do more than blind little half breeds and clip off wing nubs.

Maybe he could offer something more than crippling solutions.

Breakdown, trapped in his own thoughts, officially hated the old medic. Not only had he come into _his_ clinic and challenged him to be Unit Head and won … but now. Now he was working him into overload just by touching his hands! Yes, Knock Out had loved hand massages and they usually led to mind-blowing fragging afterwards, but Ratchet was an older mech. Not saying he didn't have a spike and needs, but Breakdown felt he shouldn't be getting aroused by this. He just wanted the medic to zap his spark with a low EM charge and get his samples that way. He had the tools. Breakdown … didn't have to be aroused first.

That was a luxury for his patients, not for him.

Not that Ratchet felt that way apparently.

F-frag. He was building up heat fast. His fans were just begging to come online and he could … he _couldn't_ keep the building heat in anymore. He was going to start melting wiring. Fraggg!

And so, with a whine he wasn't proud of, Breakdown finally relented under Ratchet's ministrations, his fans suddenly kicking on and throwing hot air into the room, showing his arousal. He was ashamed to say he even felt his valve and spike come online under his cod piece. He would have covered his face in mortification if Ratchet still wasn't molesting said hands at this very moment. Here he could berth sparklings and ram his hand up valves and not even feel a trace of sexuality … but he couldn't take another medic touching his hands?

Well, it had been _a while_.

But by Megatron's cannon … were all Unit Head's infuriating perverts? He had just thought it was Hook and then Knock Out's thing, but maybe it was all naturally-inclined medics. Primus. Were Unit Head's meant to crush your pride and make you feel like a youngling all at the same time? Knock Out had never done that … maybe Hook. Then again, Knock Out had just upgraded his hands barely an orn before he was caught. It was a last ditch effort for them to blend, to live on Cybertron peacefully at a little clinic and detailing shop.

How painfully quickly some dreams were crushed though as well as any hands on learning.

Breakdown personally always regretted not going to the Lost Colonies and New Kaon like the rest of the escaping Cons, but Knock Out had wanted a sparkling. And out there … it probably would have starved to death. Cybertron could support a new life.

Not that they ever got to have one.

“Fraggen about time,” finally growl Ratchet as he felt hot air blow up at him, ignoring the other bot's mortification as he stopped rubbing down those medical hands. “I was worried I had damaged a sensor. You should have been squirming kliks ago. Regardless, your chassis now unlocked, young-bot?”

This time Breakdown moaned in horror and covered his facial plate. Ratchet _had_ notice. Sweet Primus … was this nightmare night ever going to end? He just wanted to go back to being the butcher, a medic everyone secretly hated … not, whatever this was. Ratchet was acting like his business partner, a true Unit Head instead of one that had just walked off the street that he had barely known for more than a few groons.

That was the last time he gave a consultation to another medic.

Pulling his hands away, staring at the ceiling because he didn't' want to meet the other medic's gaze, Breakdown grumbled, “Just cut my spark up and let me recharge in peace.”

Nodding his helm, Ratchet motioned for the younger bot to open up. With a sigh, Breakdown offlined his optics and snapped open his chassis.

There had been more than one reason he didn't want to loose the Unit Head slap-o-fest (certainly there had to be a less embarrassing way to decide who was superior. Why were Autobots so weird). He honestly didn't need another lecture. He already knew he was going to get one about the sorry state of his programming, but his spark … he could already feel the sympathy bleeding off of Ratchet's EM field.

“Oh, Breakdown … I ...”

“Yes, I know. There's more than enough charge there for probably six or seven flux donations. Just use your EM Generator and get it over with,” groused Breakdown as he refused to online his optics.

He didn't want to see that expression … He didn't want to see the pity on any Autobot's face. He knew it was bad. Not deadly like Sentinel's condition, but it was tale-tell with how much charge hung around it, almost like a miasma around his spark. It was something that happened when sparkmates, Conjunx Endura, were separated for extended periods of time. The spark got almost fuzzy with extra charge … trying to reach out to its other half.

It was even more painful then seeing a broken spark-bond, especially after the war. It was like a agonizing hope that ones partner was still out there … but had yet to return. Perhaps they wouldn't. Perhaps they were trapped somewhere, in stasis or … lost without a way home.

Hope is painful. Cruel even sometimes … especially when matched with longing.

Plus, there was always a worry about suicide with mechs with the condition. Sometimes said mechs were even encouraged to take on a second bond, but … looking at this clinic now, Ratchet thought he understood Breakdown more.

Breakdown … was waiting for his other half.

Placing a hand on the side of the chassis to keep it open in case he accidentally offended the younger medic, watching the painfully deep blue spark swirl and swivel in trepidation, Ratchet said carefully, “You know Ultra Magnus encouraged …. conjugal visits … to stop this very thing from happening. You shouldn't … you shouldn't be suffering like this Breakdown.”

Huffing, wishing he could snap his chassis back shut, Breakdown bit out. “Yeah, sure … so he can find the bots that aren't in the stockades and put them there, every Con knows that.”

Ratchet, wishing Breakdown would at least look at him, sighed. Well, at least that answered where his sparkmate was. Deep in the stockades … likely suffering just as badly as Breakdown was. In fact … he now wondered how many Cons were secretly suffering like this, sparks reaching out for their sparkmates yet never able to answer.

Primus, it was probably driving some weaker Cons mad. Did the stockades medics even know what was going on? What to look for? He had heard a brief rumor about growing suicide rates in the stockades, but now it was chillingly real. After all, Cons were generally kept in small cells and none were allowed to be alone together: to plot. Apparently even conjugal visits were supposed to be monitored. Still, Cons were probably too scared to take advantage of said conjugal visits. They were probably afraid it would reveal their partner and reveal a weakness.

Pah. Stupid, stupid, war models!

Resisting the urge to grumble, Ratchet decided to focus on the problem at hand.

His voice even and calm, Ratchet slowly lowered his hands into the chamber, watching the electric overcharge draw towards his fingers and then rush away at the unfamiliar EM field. “We are far from done talking about this … but for now, lets concentrate on Sentinel and his sparkling. Now, I'm just going to start with some simple touches, slowly arousing your spark. If something hurts, let me know. If I need to slow down, let me know. If we need to take a small break, let me know. There will be a sting towards the end, but for a spark as engorged as yours … you might not even feel it. Now, just breathe.”

At the first touch … Breakdown nearly came off the berth, his crystal casing so sensitive it almost caused him to yelp. It didn't help that Ratchet was using the EM fields in his hands or the way he was speaking oh so softly, like a lover almost.

“There we go. Come on. Don't be ashamed. This is all natural. Overload whenever you are ready,” said Ratchet softly, his voice almost a whisper, hands curling around the back of the spark chamber in a knowing manner.

Despite himself, hating himself for how quickly he was coming unwound, Breakdown kicked out at his berth, a whine forming in his throat. “F-frag. Nnnnnnng. C-couldn't you have j-just used a-an EM field to o-overload my spark?”

Ratchet, huffing, asked bitterly, “And would you do that to any of your patients Breakdown? Cold EM overloads can be painful and given the cut that comes on the end, it just adds to the agony. I am not going to do that to you … not with a spark that likely hasn't known overload or the touch of another bot since the war's end. Now, just relax.”

Ratchet then threw out a small scan from his hands, bouncing it around in the other bot's chassis. Breakdown nearly blubbered in ecstasy, hands curling into the soft mesh on his berth as cleaner started to gather in his optics. Oh frag. Knock Out used to do that … Knock Out, Knock Out … his beautiful spark and mocking hands. Maybe if he offlined his optics he could imagine those hands were red and sly and beautiful.

Oh, frag. _Oh frag_. Sweet merciful _Primus_!

The next thing he knew, Ratchet was telling him he was doing great and then he was rearing off the berth in overload, a single tear streaming down his cheek as he cried out the name of his lost lover. “K-knock Out.”

It was barely a whisper, a plea of desperation and love and want … If Ratchet heard it, he said nothing at all. He merely collected his first sampled, watching Breakdown's helm lull left and right in overdue bliss as he came down after his first overload.

Ratchet, nodding at Breakdown's successful spark overload, was suddenly glad he had two babysitters at home for this was going to be an all night project. He didn't have to, but he was going to overload Breakdown's spark as many times as he safely could. The more donations Sentinel and Echo got, the better.

Nodding in agreement with himself, Ratchet placed the dense donation in an electric little box so it wouldn't fade. He then took a cleaning rag and oh so carefully wiped streaming tears off of Breakdown's face, his hands EM field bouncing comfortingly off of the younger mech's chevron. If the younger medic felt either at all, Ratchet could only guess. He was just going to patiently wait for the blue mech's afterglow to fade somewhat before he forced the blue mech back into another overload.

Given the state of this place, of Breakdown, maybe it had been a blessing Sari was the way she was. It had led him here … and to Sentinel. Some mechs just didn't know how to ask for help. Neither of the blue mechs … especially Sentinel.

Oh Primus, that was something else entirely. Something he didn't even want to dwell on. He honestly hoped the ex-Prime took a while to wake. He didn't know if he was ready to speak with him. He didn't know if he was ready to face the consequences of Soundwave's torture and of his own ... negligence.

Nonetheless, the truth was slowly bearing itself to the world, and he was here now. He wasn't going to let the young-bot run away this time. He wasn't going to let this slip through his servos without a fight. No, not this time. Sentinel didn't get to run away … because neither could he.

None of them could.

…

Elsewhere, across the universe, there was a mech pacing back and forth as he waited for his ride off this planet, dust drifting from his footsteps in the low gravity. He was _not_ an Autobot. He technically was a Decepticon. Well, officially not yet. He wasn't old enough for the Decepticon badge … though he honestly was considering denouncing his beliefs in the Decepticon cause as well. After all, his creator had all but abandoned him after all.

Stalling at the thought, the young mech kicked the dusty surface, fuming.

He wasn’t crazy! He wasn’t glitching! Did his creator think he wanted to be this way? Seeing things, hearing things that weren’t there? No, no he didn’t. He wanted to be a famous sword-mech like his carrier. Instead, his sire and his uncle both agreed that he needed treatment. Decepticons, even with New Koan and the Lost Colonies, didn’t really have any official psychologists. Apparently, a weak mind was something rarely tolerated. It didn’t matter if you went crazy as long as you did your fraggen job!

So his creator had sent him for treatment with the mental health mechs in Docker City. Just because Cybertron refused to recognize the colony as anything but a backwater collection of rejects, his creator knew better. The Docker City medics knew their CPUs as well as any part.

… Given all the rape and all the other unpleasantness they dealt with.

Regardless, Dreadwing, his sire, had committed his youngling, Deadlock, to the psych ward of Docker City's main hospital.

It, honestly, hadn’t been too bad at first. The whispers around the corner had stopped and Deadlock could finally think enough to practice his swordsmanship just like Saberhorn and his sire had been teaching him before he left, but then he had seen _him_. It was just a glimpse of yellow at first, out of the corner over his optic. And then, like a horror story, the figure kept getting closer and closer and _closer_.

He had tried to ignore it, but then he noticed a disturbing reality … every time he looked into a mirror or even a _shiny surface_ … the yellow blur would draw closer and closer.

Needless to say, Deadlock had quickly become terrified of mirrors and shiny surfaces. He had refused to look at them to the point that he had tried to gorge his own optics out once with a scalpel he had managed to snatch. Luckily, or unluckily for him, the orderlies had caught him in time.

His creator had even come all the way to Docker City because of the incident, frag all the Autobots in the area, just to come and see him personally.

He could still remember the disappointment in his large creator’s optics. He hated that look. He would take Skyquake's or his mentor, Saberhorn's, badgering any joor over that disappointed glint in his sire's optics. He hated it. He hated it so much that he had stood before a mirror that night in the dark washroom, hoping the yellow shadow would come and end him. There was but a single light outside the room as he stared, unyielding, at a mirror. He had stood there, armor rattling as the yellow figure drew closer and closer from the shadows. For honors sake he would rather deactivate then listen to his creator discuss treatments with the medical staff and at-home care. He would rather be disemboweled here in this medical care station than watch his uncle hide every pointy object in the habitation suite … including the swords he was meant to inherit when he got into his final upgrades.

Those were his alma's, Wings, first set of swords … and they were going to be his first real sword set as well. At this rate though, he could never be a sword-mech. He was all but a burden to his creator and uncle, and there was no worse fate in Decepticon culture.

And so he had stood still, clawed digits digging into his palms as struggled to remain still, cleanser tears dripping down his face plates as his vocals threatened to click in stress. The youngling was two astro-kliks from wetting himself.

Then, just when the figure was close enough to touch his shoulder, Deadlock offlined his optics and expected the ghostly touch to burn or scorch or something. Instead, it felt like a breeze had rushed through the room, a cool fresh sent carried with it that reminded him strangely of organic flowering vegetation … and then, finally, a whisper tickling against his audio.

“ _We must find the Seer and the Seeker, young Bridge. You must carry my soul to Cybertron. You must be the bridge for us all.”_

It had been too much. Too much for the young bot. He had ran away that night. Afterward, he had tried to ignore the soft pleas that followed him around from mirror to mirror. The yellow blur refused to desist and now followed him like a shadow. It just continued to whispered about confused young seers and a treasure without measure and about him being a bridge. _A bridge._ A fraggen bridge to what? For who?! Ghosts? No thank you.

Not that telling the yellow blur to leave would work. It would just make him look crazier than he was if he started speaking to it out loud.

Nonetheless, the ghost gained more and more form, a yellow mech of shift petals. He sounded like a cyber-ninja honestly … and his voice just kept getting louder and louder, less of a whisper.

Then one night … it wasn't a yellow shadow that greeted him in the dark of his locked room. It was something darker, something cruel, old and _oh so hungry_ for mechs and femmes with fates. It wanted him to rip out his wrists and his vocals and just _bleed and bleed and bleed_ away everything. It had even taken his carrier's face, Wing. The shadow had made those once kind lips say terrible things over and over again. The shadow had made Wing tell him that he was an unworthy son, that Dreadwing was suffering now because of him, that he could not move on since Deadlock wouldn't die. He was killing his sire slowly with his broken bond... just like he had killed his alma.

And Deadlock quickly wanted to do it. He wanted to end his sire's suffering. He wanted to stop being a waste of space, a broken thing. He was never going to be anything now. He would never be a sword-mech like his carrier. He would never be anything but some mad mech.

The shadow had nodded in silent agreeing with his alma's decaying face. And just when he had started to peel off his wrist plating, trying to get to the tender energon lines below, there was a burst of blooms, yellow and swirling like a thousand little daggers. They struck out at his alma despite his screams to stop, to spare Wing. But the petals kept swirling and slashing until … until he saw something beside his alma.

It was a rotting thing, a shadow of something older and crueler than he could possibly imagine.

And then it was silent, the shadow gone, the petals gone, and there was only the yellow mech-ghost standing over him.

Once again the yellow shadow told him he was the bridge … and that the shadow had found him. He wasn't safe here anymore. They had to go. They had to go now.

Terrified out of his mind, Deadlock agreed, only asking one question: the name of his savior.

“My name is Prowl,” whispered the spirit as Deadlock fell the last few feet out of the window he had climbed out of, really to head to the docks and off planet.

Deadlock, pulling his training swords close, had slowly nodded in acknowledgment. Then, thinking for a moment, he carefully added, “And my name is Deadlock, but you can call me … Drift. I mean I can't just sneak onto Cybertron with a name like Deadlock, can I?”

The ghost, the delusion, or whatever it was, merely smiled at him softly, stating simply, “Drift seems a fitting name to me. Now come, you have bridge things to do.”

Whatever than meant, Drift didn't know. He kind of felt like Prowl was making it up as he went as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally geeked out with my forming Ratchet-Breakdown … bond? Bromance? Pff, I don't know. None of us know. It just is. Knock Out will always be his sweet spark either way. As for the chapter end … Drift! Fangirl squeee! I totally made Dreadwing his creator and I don't regret it one bit. Wing is also his deceased alma. So we now start to get into the Decepticon part of the story. I wasn't originally going to have anything with them, but bam, its there now. Also Prowl? Where have you been this whole time? We are on Chapter 31? We need some ninja action stat!


	32. The Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Ratchet sat at the counter, slowly tweeking the tools he could … dwelling on the night's events.

He had spark overloaded Breakdown multiple times with his hands. Even when the blue mech had been all but weeping in exhausted pleasure, he had persisted if only for Sentinel's sake. Finally, the poor mech had passed out, his body not used to the stress of overloading. For a few kliks Ratchet had considered to keep going, collecting more donations, but refrained. True, Breakdown still had a miasma around his spark, but nowhere near so dense. Plus … Ratchet felt it best to clean the poor mech up. He could see the transfluid and lube just dripping from behind the blue mech's cod piece.

Nothing to be embarrassed about. Even mechs that gave a single spark-flux donation could physically come. He was sure Breakdown's interfacing systems had held out until the third spark overload and then could take no more. Ratchet found it best not embarrass the larger mech unnecessary and said nothing.  

So, once he was sure the mech was out, he had taken off his cod piece and cleaned him up. A nice healthy slightly modded spike and a tight underused valve had been below, dripping in fluids.

Ratchet would be lying if he hadn't been slightly aroused. It … had been too long for him as well. Not that he would probably be single much longer.

Once he got his fake bond documents to go through for Sari and Reboot he knew that the medical services would start throwing single parent mechs and femmes at him. Given most sparklings needed a second parent spark to be stable, he likely would have to beat off a few mechs. Sari, being Allspark created, didn't need any support. Reboot … he didn't know yet. He honestly didn't know if the poor thing was little more than a drone at this point.

Nonetheless, if he kept busy, he probably could keep out of the match makers clutches until Sari was considered old enough to be stable, thus not needing a second parent.

Honestly, the program was part of the reason Ratchet had taken Sari instead of making Optimus adopt her. The kid was too young to be bonding with anybot willy-nilly. Plus, he wasn't crafty enough to lead mechs or femmes on for vorns to come. Ratchet … he was fraggen old. He knew how to bide his time.

Sighing at the coming struggle, knowing that he could at least allow himself to be fragged a few times because it really had been too long, he placed another tool down. He had been cleaning and repairing the tools he could in Breakdown's collection. After all, he had just finished giving Sentinel Minor Breakdown's spark-flux donations and … given the mini-overload's Sentinel had experienced, it likely had reset his system.

Well, at least there were no nanites or lube to clean up off of Sentinel. He also didn't see any valve scarring when he had checked. What happened that night nearly two vorns ago? Was it a rape? Was it semi-consensual? What the frag had happened? He wanted to know so badly and yet … he didn't want to know at all. Blessed are the ignorant as the saying went.

He loved that young-bot. He loved Optimus so much. The kid was basically his creation. All of them really … even Bumblebee. As painful as that was to admit. He'd offline to protect any of those young-bots. He was old, after all, even with his recent system upgrades which gave him a semblance of youth. The world had given him his time. If he could, he would take the fall for this. Optimus still had a whole life. He deserved it.

Then again, what of Sari and Reboot?

Sighing, Ratchet stared at a tool he had been scrubbing for at least half a groon. He couldn’t concentrate or think. He needed Sentinel to wake up. He needed to yell at that big chinned idiot. He wanted to shake him! He wanted to ask him over and over again why he hadn’t asked for help on Earth. Why hadn’t he broken down and wept if it was rape that had left him so afraid? Why?!

Frag! Why was the world so hard? He had become an old mech where more deserving and kind mechs had bled out on the battlefield.

He didn’t want the weight of Sentinel’s secrets, but who else would bear them?

Sighing, the old mech wondering if he should transform and take a nap in his alt mode, he stared at his hands. How dirty they felt with all the blood and fluids that had once covered them over the vorns. On Earth, he hadn’t been able to see those invisible stains. He had rather enjoyed Earth in some ways, the heat of the sun warming his old joints and the rain pattering down his frame. It seemed to wash everything away. It was a world of change and life. Alive in a way Cybertron no longer felt.  

Frag. These thoughts would drive him mad! Finally, as if listening to his silent plea. There was a twitch from the berth. Quickly looking up, Ratchet held his venting as he watched Sentinel come online.

There was a moment of stillness, as if the world was trying to decide its next course of action, as if the fates were trying to make up Sentinel’s mind for him. Then, shocking poor Ratchet with his speed, Sentinel was scrambling off the berth, nearly collapsing into the adjoining wall. There was a crash as the blue mech quickly fell to the floor, though, his legs unable to hold him.

So … the time had come … for the painful confrontation.

Systems now panting in a panic, blue optics searched the room in a frenzy, Sentinel was seemingly stuck in his earlier panic from when he had ended up on the clinic’s doorstep. There was another moment of stillness, Ratchet trying not to twitch a cable as Sentinel Minor observed him. Surprisingly, it was Sentinel that spoke first for which Ratchet was glad. His own tongue felt so heavy.

“W-where is he? Where is he?”

There was no real question as to who he was asking about. Ratchet knew. He didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to confront the past today, but he also saw no point in dragging it out. He didn’t want to allow this to burden Sentinel for another two vorns. Today he would have the truth. No matter how much it hurt. If he could, he would accept the punishment for all of this. He had lived a long life. He … could always give Sari and Reboot to somemech else. He wanted Sari and Reboot. He really did, now that he all but had them, but the world is what it is. There are somethings you can fight and there are other things you merely accept.

“If you are talking about Echo, Sentinel Minor, he is recharging peacefully in the other exam room.”

Sentinel looked at the door like a frightened animal. He looked ready to bolt, but Ratchet’s next words seem to staple him to the floor. 

“Though, I ask that you don’t go to him quite yet. We are going to have a conversation about his … creation … and I would rather not have it over his berthside. One doesn’t just leave a sire’s name off of a sparkling’s file for no reason,” said Ratchet, his voice even. He had been dreading this conversation, but now that it was before him he found the words coming easily. He was angry at the Minor. He should have said something! He should have said something ages ago. It would have hurt less. The wound might have healed right, but now it was infect and sour.

Swallowing, Sentinel seemed to be looking for something to say, his mouth opening several times only to close. He was lost for words, for a voice.

It seemed that Ratchet would have to speak for both of them.

Sighing, Ratchet eyed the blue mech for a moment, a scan falling over the Minor. Sentinel twitched, but merely looked away as he swallowed heavily. He looked near tears. Not that Ratchet blamed him. The big mech would probably rather take an acid pelt to the back of the throat then talk about this, but the time for hiding was done.

“How about you have a seat Sentinel? It must be uncomfortable on the floor,” said Ratchet as he patted a hand on the berth.

When the blue mech refused to move, Ratchet took up a stern tone he only used for youngling’s. Compared to him, Sentinel was nothing but a young thing. “We are having this conversation, Sentinel Minor. You can either tell me the truth from the floor or you can look me in the optic. Now, I would rather it be optic to optic myself.”

Vents catching, Sentinel swallowed and then almost painfully slowly he stood up and sat on the berth. Sentinel’s first words were obviously trying to drag the medic away from the question at hand. “What are you doing here?”

Ratchet, if only to distract his hands, started to continue his earlier cleaning. His words almost bitter, “Saving you … and your creation.”

Sentinel twitched, his optics offlining and onlining, his vocals glitching before he was able to murmur. “We didn’t ask for your help.”

“Well you fraggen should have!” snapped Ratchet. “How long, Sentinel? How long have you harbored this alone? How long did you think you could?”

The blue mech looked at him as if he was insulted, his mouth opening as if he was about to defend his decisions, but Ratchet beat him to the punch. “I’ll tell you how long … until your spark finally gave out, and you and that sparkling of yours both offlined. That’s when! A youngling that age can’t survive on his own, especially not without both of his parents.”

Sentinel … looked away.

Nonetheless, Ratchet had to continue.

 “… Part of me wants to ask who the other parent is, but I know. I know so well that it hurts this old medic’s spark,” continued Ratchet, his vocals cracking as clenser started to gather in his own optics. “What I should ask, what I should have demanded long ago, was an explanation … an explanation of what happened that night in the sewers, on Earth with Soundwave.”

Ratchet’s next arguments bit, burned, and ripped at Sentinel’s spark as if the old medic was peering right into his very being. And yet, as much as the words dug into him, Sentinel couldn’t help but reel back in surprise when he noticed that Ratchet was wiping at his own optics. Huh? He had started to cry as well, hadn’t he? He … he couldn’t even open his mouth. He … this … this wasn’t really happening, was it? Had … had Ratchet always known or at least suspected?

“… Was it … Was it at least consensual? I know you used to be friends … I … need to know.”

The blue Prime sat there, the whole thing feeling surreal. After all this time, hiding that night like a nightmare never to be forgotten, somebot seemed to know the whole time what had happened. Someone else had known, or at least suspected, his greatest shame. He knew, without a doubt, that no matter how much the repair bot loved Optimus, Ratchet would accept what Sentinel said without question … without rebut.

A dark part of Sentinel, a part of him that was smothered and silenced by his parental duties and love, rose to the surface. It was sneering and laughing. Oh, how it wanted to hurt Optimus. How it wanted to point Sentinel’s finger and claim Optimus hurt him, groaning like a bull while Sentinel wailed in agony from painful impregnation. He wanted to scream rape. He wanted to point at Optimus and call him a monster, having his title stripped and his Autobot brand as well.

Yet … he could not.

It haunted him, but a part of his mind never forgot that Optimus had _made love_ to him. Optimus had kissed him and soothed him as his thickness penetrated his tight heat, his mind tricked into thinking it was consensual. He would never forget how Optimus had cried out his name or how gentle the rock of his hips had been. If … If Elita hadn’t passed, that was how he would have liked it to have been, the taking of his valve.

Swallowing, the words heavy on his tongue as if they weighed a ton, an admittance to himself as much as Ratchet, the words finally escaped the blue Prime. They were so soft. It was almost as if he was telling a secret. “We … we were both Soundwave’s victims that night. Optimus is merely the lucky one to have never remembered. He … is Echo’s sire. S-soundwave forced us to couple, forced Optimus to make love to me. H-he … I … we both were wronged that night.”

He then couldn’t hold it together a moment longer, covering his face as he started to sob. There, he admitted it. He spoke those words for the first time to another bot. Optimus was the sire to Echo. They had coupled and came together that night. That night had happened. It had happened and it hurt twice as much for him because he had no one to blame anymore. Soundwave was offline. He had done the deed himself. He had beaten the Decepticon’s CPU into the cement, and yet he never took any comfort in the fact. And Optimus … Optimus was a victim as well. He had his fucking mind raped and in some strange way had been raped as well. Sentinel wanted to hate him though, mostly, because Optimus didn’t have to remember.  

He would never have to recall.

He would never be haunted by that night’s events.

He suffered no pains afterwards.

“B-but he’s mine,” said Sentinel as he removed his hands for his face, his arms now shaking as he slowly started to become hysterical. “He’s mine. I raised him all alone. I birthed him all alone. Echo’s mine. Mine. Mine!”

Ratchet watched as Sentinel couldn’t hold it together anymore. It was just one sob first and then he was all but bawling. Ratchet, who was already stunned, could barely speak when Sentinel was to his feet, shaking the old mech as he begged, “Please! This can’t leave this room. Don’t let Optimus know. He can’t take Echo away. He’s mine! He’s the only thing that has ever loved me. Please! I will leave and never come back. No one needs to know about what happened on Earth. J-just let me keep him. _Please_.”

The blue mech was all but sobbing, cleaner falling down his cheeks. He was terrified. He couldn’t even imagine losing Echo, and yet he was acting like Ratchet was ripping the sparkling from his arms. Not that Ratchet would ever do that. For one, Echo was too small to be taken away from his alma, too dependent. And for another, if a couple had to be separated for any time, it was always recommended the sparkling stay with the carrier for that time. Yet, that was the magic word, _for a time_. Even if a sparkling was an accident, the coupled pairing would stick together until the sparkling’s spark was more self-sufficient. Optimus had been suffering the after effects for a while now with the spark aches.

It was time for a nasty truth.

Nonetheless, Ratchet leaned over on his stool and pulled the younger mech’s helm into an awkward embrace, trying to shush him as he petted the back of his helm. If anything, Sentinel was now crying harder, Ratchet’s lap was even starting to feel wet. That didn’t cause the old mech to pull away, though. He knew he was grouchy and rough around the edges, but he still wouldn’t be a healer if he didn’t care about other mechs. He might not have the warmest berthside manner, but he would comfort those he could. And so, he spoke calmly and reassuringly to the terrified alma, promising he wouldn’t take Echo from him. He told him he had no plans to take a sparkling from his carrier.

It took nearly half a groon, but slowly Sentinel started to calm down. Thus, Ratchet saw no point in holding back any longer.

Once he had gotten Sentinel back onto the berth and venting somewhat regularly, he placed a hand on the blue mech’s shoulder. Ratchet’s words were soft and so painful he could feel the blue mech twitch under his touch. He knew his words probably hurt as much as being shot, but Ratchet had made a decision … he felt it was for the best of everyone, especially little Echo.

“You are a good carrier, Sentinel,” he said truthfully, for what kind of love and devotion did it take to cripple your own spark in such a way, “… but you are also a bad one. Scarring yourself like this. You could have offlined and then where would Echo be?”

Sentinel swallowed thickly, but couldn’t look Ratchet in the optic. Then, Ratchet dropped the bomb, his words unyielding. “That alone is why Echo needs his other parent around. It will keep him, and you it seems, alive. You need to tell Optimus about this soon Sentinel, about his son, … or I will.”

And with those words, Ratchet left the room, closing the door softly behind him. He tried not to listen to the soft sobs that echoed in the clinic afterwards. He refused to feel guilty for his decision … for the world was always full of hard choices. And allowing Sentinel and Echo to offline seemed a harder choice than telling the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so very hard to write. It’s such an important conversation. It really is … especially because I don’t want you all to think of Ratchet as the bad guy. He … is just doing what he thinks is best. That doesn’t always mean everyone will agree, but so is life. And Optimus, though I know some readers don’t agree, I’ve never seen him as anything but another victim.


	33. An Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 years.
> 
> = _Comm Link_ =
> 
> :: _Bond Speak_ ::

 

Breakdown watched the copper metals swirl with the silver metal additives, little crystal bits glimmering like stars. It was like a galaxy in a cube. Watching for a moment, the crystal bits sinking and dying away like fading starlight, he added a few drops of white powder that spread over the mixture like a light frost. Watching the cube turn gel-like, he sighed.

He really didn’t need to make these mixed cubes right now, but it helped him calm down. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was a way to fool his body into thinking that Knock Out was around and would be asking for these cubes any moment. That was how it started, Breakdown assisting in the medical bay. He usually just dragged Cons half dead in, applying basic first aid on the field. One time, he had been dropping off a brute when the red medic had asked if he had the mental capacity to measure anything, the medical bay packed with the dead and the dying. Confused, he had merely said, ‘ _Yes_.’ He knew his measurements.

_‘Well, handsome … let’s see if you measure up.’_

He honestly didn’t know if he had been asked out or blackmailed into measure medical cubes because no one wanted to stay behind and do menial tasks like assist in the medical bay. But, somehow, the red medic almost always accosted him afterwards whenever he dropped anyone off. He might have stopped going into the med bay all together if he didn’t like the way Knock Out flirted with him and how he _oh so accidently_ rubbed up against his rear end from time to time. He got very good at mixing cubes just to stick around. He then became good at fixing medical equipment and so forth and so on until they ended up on a medical berth together, mouths and interface equipment intermingled as they panted each other’s names. After that, there was no going back. One helping the other to their feet be it a hard day welding on new limbs to needing a new limb welded on after a bad battle.

They had belonged together.

And then they were ripped apart at the end of the war. He hadn’t been there that mega-cycle when the Auto-Troopers came. He should have been there … He hated himself for not fighting for Knock Out when they came to take him to the stockades. Now, they’d forever be apart.

Resisting the urge to crush the cube in his hands, Breakdown immediately blamed Ratchet for this. He hadn’t thought of his lost love in ages but opening his chassis and overloading him last night was dragging him back into realty with painful clarity. Now, he remembered that he would never get to rejoin with the other part of his spark. Part of him just wanted to open his chassis and crush his own spark and be done with - _stop_!

 _Stop_! Stop that train of thought right now!

Breakdown immediately covered his face with his hands and invented, allowing his struts of sag onto the stool he was sitting on.

Frag, frag, frag. This is why he tried not to dwell on Knock Out. Such strained bonds can cause depression and suicidal thoughts. Frag him! Frag him! Frag him!

“Breakdown, are you alright?” finally came a voice through the din, jolting Breakdown out of his mental montage, the crafted medic sitting up straight.

Ratchet was standing over him, looking very concerned. He said he wouldn’t be back until later today leaving the Sentinel fallout to him. Fragger. Why was he back so soon anyway? Slag. Was that really the time? Had his medical programming caused him to go into a loop because of the suicidal thoughts? Yes. Yes, it had. Really, two groons wasted on a loop because his medical program couldn’t find a line of code to delete? Its’s not like a bond can be deleted like a normal thought. Ugh, this mega-cycle was turning out to be horrible. You would think after a night of post-overload haze he’d be on cloud nine. Nope, certainly not. He was miserable. He felt like his drink had been drugged last night-cycle and now he was waking up in a ditch.

“I’m fine … considering the fallout you left me to deal with,” snapped Breakdown, harsher than he meant to. “What did you say to him? I’ve never seen Sentinel so emotionally detached. He acted like he was in shock this morning. I couldn’t let him drive home like that, especially not with Echo as a passenger. I had to give him a sedative just to keep him here. Frag, what did you say? Last night he acted like he was running away, but now he just … gave up. He wanted to go back to his housing unit and act like last night didn’t happen. Just what did you say? He trusted me and I feel like I just threw him to the cyber-wolves!”

Sighing, pulling up another stool that was red and looked like it hadn’t been sat on in vorns given its pristine condition, Ratchet put both of his hands palms up. Breakdown knew what the action met, but he didn’t move to meet his _Unit Head_. Ugh, that title was going to leave a bitter after tasste for a while. He also wanted some answers first before the older medic went riffling around in his programing. 

“Well?” he added when Ratchet gave him an irritated look for not offering his hands and med-ports over. “My patient is in the room over with enough sedatives to keep him down for a mega-cycle and Echo, thank Primus, merely thinks his carrier is napping. He’s currently curled up next to Sentinel trying to be as quiet as possible so he doesn’t wake him up. So, what the frag did you say?”

Sighing, making a mental note to check on Echo after this, Ratchet admitted, “I told him a hard truth that he needed to hear. We had a discussion about the sire and that Echo’s health comes first and foremost. If you want all the details, you will have to speak with him.”

Breakdown continued to glare before finishing his mixture and sealing it. It was for Sentinel and his pain management. Ratchet had already added a list of medications to the Prime’s medical charts and though he wasn’t happy about it, the crafted medic had nothing better to do. “A useless endeavor … he probably trusts me as far as he can throw me now because of you and your meddling.”

Looking at his hands for a moment, Ratchet admitted, “I said what I thought was right. Echo comes first. Now, given you look like slag warmed over, give me your wrists. I need to take a look at your medical programming before my own goes into a tizzy. Its adamant that something is wrong with yours and it isn’t going to let me rest as your Unit Head until I take a look.”

Sighing, for his own medical programing would go into a tizzy if he denied his Unit Head a klick more, the blue mech gave his wrists to the other medic and opened the medical ports. He almost twitched when Ratchet fingered them both, checking them for wear and tear. Yes, he knew they needed to be updated, like his medical programs. They were well used. What can he say? Offlining and replacing battle programs in patients took a lot of work.

“Do these hurt?” was the first thing Ratchet said.

“No, they are numb. I know they need to be replaced, but coming across illegal ones isn’t exactly easy,” groused Breakdown already knowing that the next few groons were going to be the pit. He never really had a Medic Head, unless you counted Knock Out, but he had seen how Hook had acted when he got a new recruit. Poor Ambulon had been poked, prodded and dare he say mother-henned over. Well, as much as a Con can mother hen that is. He didn’t even want to know how bad an Autobot Unit Head was going to be. Ugh, his insides felt squirmy already.

Thankfully, Ratchet said nothing but he could almost hear the older medic making a list in his head. He then plugged in, pressing into Breakdown’s programming like a wave coming into shore and water logging the sand. Breakdown’s whole body suddenly felt heavy as his medical program rose to meet Ratchet’s. He didn’t even bother to look at the Autobot’s disapproving frown.

“It’s painfully outdated … not to mention illegally uploaded. Where did you even get this programming?”

“Off a dead mech towards the end of the war,” added Breakdown, half surprised that Ratchet hadn’t immediately pulled away in disgust. “What? I didn’t kill him and he wasn’t going to use it anymore.”

Ratchet merely frowned, his programming pushing against the outdated and now deeply ingrained medical programming, offering updates that Breakdown was starving for. “I suppose I’m not too surprised. I kind of suspected it honestly given the near breakdown you had yester-cycle and the loop I walked in on.”

Breakdown twitched. Ugh, he noticed that.

“Yes, I noticed that,” grumped the older mech. “My medical programing won’t calm down until its fully assesses you … given I’m now the Unit Head. Which, since we are sitting here, I wanted to apologize for that. I know this is your clinic, Butcher, but we need each other. I need to take care of Sari and Reboot while you need updated programs and a new license for the clinic. So, here’s my offer. You write up the fake bonding docs and initial medical exam for Sari and Reboot. I, in turn, help make this clinic a little more legal so you don’t get your aft arrested.”

His head feeling fuzzy as his medical program basically devoured the new information it was getting while Ratchet pressed into his personal firewalls and started looking for smart-viruses, Breakdown somehow managed to ask, “And how are you going to do that? My medical programming is as illegal as slag and the only reason my clinic is still open is because mechs owe me favors.”

Sighing, having already made some calls this morning when he went home to find Sari and her _sitters_ snuggled up in front of the holo-vison like junk-food binge zombies, Ratchet admitted, “I’m applying for a new license for the clinic. I am going to be the Unit Head and I’ll say the old Unit Head retired after filling out Sari’s forms. I’m also taking on an apprentice who will need medical codes which will get rid of that illegal programming of yours.”

Catching on immediately, Breakdown shook his helm, “Oh, no. No, no. I have Con coding. They won’t let me near Iacon medical schools. I’ll be in the stockades in a klick … and so will you.”

Ratchet rolled his optics, a habit he picked up on Earth he would sadly admit. “I’m not enrolling you into Iacon. I said _apprentice_ in the traditional sense, which means I think you are skilled enough to skip over all that drama. Besides, all the teachers there are fraggers. Stick up their afts as the humans say.”

Breakdown, for a moment, looked surprised before he actually laughed. Here he thought Ratchet was a traditional bot that followed organizations like the medical board blindly. Nope. Seemed he got somewhat of a rebel and maybe a Con sympathizer … even if Ratchet hadn’t yet admitted it. For goodness sake, he was technically hiding Cons on Cybertron. Maybe this _partnership_ wasn’t going to be completely horrible. 

“Alright, pick a berth so I can do a physical,” added Ratchet as he unplugged from Breakdown’s systems, having stuffed a ton of downloads into his system for unpacking.

Then again, he could be wrong. Ratchet was a sadist. Had to be.

“You’re kidding, right? I already feel like slag this morning?” groused Breakdown, part of him surprised Ratchet hadn’t mentioned concern about a smart virus on the scan. True, it was a quick scan, but still … if it wasn’t a virus that caused him to see corpse-Knock Out, what had?

“We should just get this over with so my medical programing can calm the slag down. Its giving this old medic a helm-ache,” said Ratchet as he spooled his medical jacks back up and offered a hand to Breakdown.

Breakdown merely glared at him.

“Come on, young bot. Stop acting like a sparkling. I don’t need you passing out or resetting on me. You shouldn’t have been up at all given the spark-flux donations you gave yester-cycle anyway,” added Ratchet with his hand still offered. “When your medical programs start unpacking what I uploaded, they are going to hit you like a truck. Come on. It’s less embarrassing to shuffle across the floor than be carried. And I don’t think my back can carry your aft even with my reinforced joints.”

EM field almost pouting, Breakdown got to his feet and immediately regretted it. His helm was swimming as his medical programming started shuffling through updates like a kid in a candy store. He barely noticed that he had been half dragged to the berth until he realized he was was lying down, Ratchet throwing scans over him as he started prying at plating and poking his joints.

“Unnh,” groaned Breakdown, time starting to slip from him as his HUB got littered with update alerts. “Did you throw a digital sedative in there? Frag, my helm.”

“That’s how it is kid when you don’t update such a vital program for eons. It hurts like a bitch as humans would say. So, don’t puke on me,” groused Ratchet. “Now, let’s see what we have. Your plating looks healthy and well cared for. Your joints could use a little work. Nothing important right now. And, let’s have a look at that eye socket. I don’t want to be the barer of bad news, but that will have to be replaced. If you go in to take a medical exam, the professor will send you packing to the nearest medical room and then they might see your war model programing.”

Breakdown twitched, ready to argue about the other medic’s missing chevron but Ratchet was already carefully touching the plating over his missing optic, hands surprisingly reassuring as he ran a finger over Breakdown’s chevron and down his cheek. It was kind of intimate and slightly unnerving, but this wasn’t a Con he was dealing with, it was a mushy Autobot. It was a cultural thing he still had trouble adapting too even after all this time pretending to be a normal Autobot civilian. Ugh, he hoped it didn’t rub off on him.

Nonetheless, klicks later, Breakdown’s fingers twitched every time a screw as removed from the plate over his optic. The small comfort he had felt was gone as hatred bubbled in his tank. Fragger could have done all the physical exams first, but now he understood that Ratchet did the updates first to disorient him. He must have known that Breakdown would have normally put a fight up over the optic. Fragger.

Unable to gather the mental capacity to put forth an argument to keep the optic plating, Breakdown merely set his jaw and gritted his denta. This was a long time coming. He knew it. It was just … Knock Out was supposed to fix him up. Knock Out had always been the one to put him back together. Always.

“Hmm, its completely gutted but at least it was cleaned up nicely. The whole thing needs to be rebuilt. It’s going to be a custom job given your heavily modified model. So, it might take an orn or two,” said Ratchet as he ran a finger over bare circuits, scanner echoing over the empty optic hole. Then, after what felt like forever, Ratchet stopped poking and prying, covering the empty socket back up.

“Okay, one last thing. Let’s check that valve and spike. Given the status of your spark, I doubt it’s gotten a proper check in ages,” said Ratchet as he moved away from Breakdown’s helm and two his peds.

Beside himself, Breakdown chuckled darkly, “Just trying to get back under my cod piece, huh? Didn’t get a good enough look last night when you cleaned me up?”

Huffing, Ratchet groused. “I had Sentinel to take care of. I didn’t have time to check you there, which you just as wells pop your chassis now as well. I want to check your spark to see how it settled after last night.”

Finding the controls easier this time, Breakdown did pop his chassis and slid down the berth, spreading his legs while Ratchet placed his hands on each knee. His medical programs wouldn’t have let him say no anyway. They were now calculating all the last times since his exams and what to report to his new Unit Head. He’d rather just get this over with so the older medic wouldn’t have to know those dates. His cod piece popped off with ease.

Trying to be wittier than he felt, Breakdown jested as Ratchet lubed his hands and the tools he selected. “Want me to check your valve next? Make sure it’s not full of dust and techno-moths or anything?”

Ratchet huffed though he did slightly chuckle. “Tuh. After we came back from Earth we were treated like we were infected or traumatized from being on an organic planet for so long. I had so many pairs of hands in all my components I lost count what parts were cleaned or updated. My valve was not spared. It was the most action I’ve gotten in probably ten vorns”

Beside himself, the blue medic laughed, nearly coming off the berth a klick later when he felt those lubed fingers start to press into him. Said fingers circled around the rim for a nano-klick before they dived inside a few inches to test the flexibility of the valve walls and capillaries, lubing him up as they went. Then, just as quickly, those same fingers retreated only to be replaced by a lukewarm stretcher. Ratchet had quick old servos, that was for sure.

Shifting a bit as the tool pressed deeper into him, spreading his valve more than it had been since Knock Out was taken away, Breakdown tried not to become aroused as he grumped, “A little more warning would have been appreciated.”

Huffing, settling between those thick blue thighs, Ratchet was silent for a few moments as he scanned and examined the bared valve. “Valve looks good … though underused. You should give it a little attention once in a while, Breakdown, and that plug looks old. I can order one for your size. Though … I doubt that you will be sexually active any time soon.”

Breakdown huffed as if in agreement.

“Now, let’s release that spike. Hopefully, it’s at least well used,” said Ratchet, removing the stretcher and the scanners it had been running. He wiped the valve down somewhat and then there were fingers willing his modded spike up. It took all of Breakdown’s will not to whine or get hard. Frag, he forgot how embarrassing and horrible interface exams were.

“Sorry if that was uncomfortable. Most mechs get hard making a forced release somewhat bearable,” said Ratchet as he examined the slowly hardening spike. “Okay, it looks healthy, but I’m going to recommend you stimulate yourself at least once an orn. It’s good for dealing with stressed systems.”

Ratchet, blessedly skipped his aft port and started to wipe his hands which meant the examination was done. Strangely though, he left the cod piece open and his equipment still lubed.

“I’m leaving you open so you can deal with that after I leave,” explained Ratchet a nano-klick later. “It’s the good stuff so you should be wet for a few groons at least.”

Breakdown wanted to cover his face and groan in humiliation but resisted. He knew it was true. His spark would probably be less stressed if he did pleasure himself once in a while. It was normal for a matured system … that didn’t mean he wanted Ratchet ordering him to finger himself though.

“Alright, now let’s see that spark,” said Ratchet coming up to his side, opening the chassis the rest of the way. Blue light with touches of yellow rained over the medic’s polished armor almost immediately. For a moment there was silence, Ratchet sighing as he ran his first visual scan. “It looks like I barely touched it yester-cycle. It’s just so dense. For now, I think the best thing to do is for you to masturbate more than once an orn. Once a mega-cycle I would say: spark, spike, and valve if you don’t mind. We can also get a few spark-flux donations to take the stress off of Sentinel. But, honestly, we need you to bond with your Conjunx Endura.”

Breakdown tried not to be bitter, but it carried in his tone. “Well, let me just get up, bared valved, and break right into the stockades. I’ll frag him good and hard just because you said so.”

Shaking his helm, leaving the chassis open as he headed to the medical cabinets to get some energon or something to relax Breakdown, Ratchet spoke over his shoulder, “I was actually thinking about that as well, Breakdown. Given I will have an apprentice, I might be able to weasel a way into the stockade’s medical bay. After all, my apprentice can get hands on experience with the inmates. I can’t free your endure, but I might be able to get a few klicks of privacy for you to bond.”

Beside himself, Breakdown was sitting up, EM field filled with hope. “Are you serious? Really … I … can see him.”

“You’ll be doing much more than that if I can get you two alone for a few klicks,” said Ratchet as he looked at the cabinet full of premixed energon. He would be the first to admit he was envious. These mixes were prime quality. He could tell just by looking at them. Any Unit Head would kill to have a mech under him with those skills. The way Breakdown mixed powdered metals and fluids was an art form.

“You really do an exceptional job with medical cube mixes, Breakdown,” said Ratchet as he picked a cube and gave it to the crafted-medic, helping him hold it as his hands shook. Frag, that medical update was doing a number on him. Maybe he wouldn’t even have time to jack off before he was down for the count. “Now, drink up, frag off, and then rest. Give your spark and updated programing some time to relax and settle. And let’s hope this is a beneficial arrangement for us both.”

With that Ratchet watched Breakdown shakily drink the cube. Here was to their new futures … May it not explode in either of their faces.

…

“So, you’re not dead and yet you are somehow a ghost? That just makes no sense. Are you deactivated or are you not?” said Drift, completely confused as he leaned away from the warehouse wall he was hiding next to, peeking around some crates and out into the streets of Docker City again. He quickly pulled back when a few members of the city guard marched by obviously looking for something. There was no question what they were looking for or _who_ if you were going to be accurate about it. It was his own fault, Drift supposed. He was technically an escaped mental patient and youngling after all. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed his disappearance. He had planned to be gone before the discovery, but it turned out ships traveling to Cybertron directly were rare given there wasn’t an actual trade agreement with their origin planet.

When Prowl didn’t offer a rebut, Drift sighed and stared out at the street some more. It didn’t take long before he noticed the Captain of the City Guard, a rotary, stall in the middle of the road only to be surrounded by other Docker City Defensive guards, the equivalent of the city’s policy and basic military force. Beside himself, Drift meeped and pulled back into the shadows as far as he could when one of the mechs glanced in his direction. After a few klicks of nobody coming to fetch him, the young mech dared look around the corner again. The Captain of the Guard looked like a desperate mech. It was kind of unnerving how hard they were looking for him actually. Younglings ran away from home all the time in the Lost Colonies and the Cons never put up this much of a fuss looking for said runaways. Then again, New Kaon and the Lost Colonies had the DJD, so if a youngling really needed to be found … Well, you did not want to be fetched by them, to say the least. A spanking was the least of your worries.

Hankering down for a long wait, Drift tried to ignore Prowl’s wispy presence as he tried to think. He just didn’t get it. Why was the city guard in such a tizzy over him? Maybe it was a cultural thing. Either way, there was no way he was going to be able to sneak onto a ship with them acting this way.

“Sorry, Trimmer. We still haven’t found anything on the escaped youngling. Not even in the Red Crystals Districts. He could be anywhere,” said one guard as he addressed the copter, the enforcer’s voice echoing to Drift’s hiding place.

Trimmer’s rotary blades twitched in worry as he nodded, “We need to find him. He is very unstable. Apparently, he tried to gorge out his own optics recently. He needs to be found … preferably before Dreadwing and Skyquake get here.”

Drifted twitched at that, pulling his plating close. Oh. Well, that explained a lot. His sire was coming. Frag. He didn’t blame the poor city guards for being almost frantic. Ever since Megatron had been captured, Starscream deactivated, and Strika in an emotional upheaval since her endura was all but ripped from her … there had been a scramble for new leadership. The Decepticon masses weren’t tearing at each other yet, but only because of mechs like his sire. After all, they had helped keep order while Megatron looked for the Allspark. Also, because Starscream’s death was actually official now, his Sire was likely the new wing lord.

Frag. What was he going to do? He felt helpless. He couldn’t even use practice swords right. How could be the _Bridge_? Whatever the frag that meant.

Looking to Prowl, optics staring to feel wet even though he told himself he wasn’t a sparkling anymore and shouldn’t be crying, Drift choked, “My sire is coming … and there are no ships heading to Cybertron. They’ll find me in an instant. Maybe … Maybe you are wrong. Maybe I’m not this Bridge you need.”

Prowl, moving like a breeze had hit him since he looked like little more than moving petals, pointed to two other mechs heading his way as the city guard dispersed to continue their search. They were two large fliers, shuttle-formers likely, alike in build except for one wore a visor. They were obviously twins and they were in a panicked hurry.

Drift looked back at Prowl in inquiry, but Prowl just kept pointing. Sighing in defeat for Prowl’s cryptic silence, Drift crawled up the storage containers next to him and onto the roof of the warehouse. He tried to keep his helm low and he drew nearer to the two big mechs. Despite himself, all he could think of was sire’s brother. Skyquake would have been ecstatic to find two large twin models, fliers no less. He had been trying to get his sire to go on a double date with him for vorns. Originally, it had been so Deadlock could get another spark to support him, but in the end, Skyquake merely bonded with his twin more often to make up for the stress. That still didn’t mean that Skyquake wasn’t looking for a double date. He wanted to be a sire someday as well.

Shaking off the thought because he did not need to think of his sire’s brother in that way, _gross_ , Drift drew closer and closer until he was on top of the warehouse above the twins.

“I don’t think we should be rash. We can’t go all the way to Cybertron over a cryptic message from Rift Ring - I mean Sentinel. You know he’s prone to panic when it concerns little Echo. Let’s at least wait for Sonic Trip to contact us back. She’s at least on the same planet. It will take orns to get there. What if it’s nothing,” said the large shuttle with the visor.

Stalling in front of a warehouse, a small class space ship likely inside given the type of warehouse it was, the other mech bit back, “And what if it isn’t nothing, Aquila? His message said that Echo had been discovered.”

“So,” said the mech dubbed Aquila. “Echo’s legal. He has birth records from Docker City. Restart made sure of it. Besides … our kind isn't welcome on Cybertron, Skyfire. You know that.”

Skyfire suddenly looked affronted. “What do you mean by _our kind_ , brother? We are scientists and students from the Docker City Academy. We are also friends of Sentinel. Sentinel even managed to get us paperwork so that we could visit. Frag, Sonic Trip is a rotary and she’s planet side. We are going. End of discussion.”

Aquila, taking a step back, was obviously surprised by his twin’s reaction. His wings even sagged and his hand twitched when he tried to touch his visor. Skyfire, opening the warehouse door, turned around and immediately felt horrible.

“Oh, Aquila. Stop. There is nothing wrong with either of us. You know that,” said Skyfire, coming forward to grasp his twin’s face, forcing him to look him in the optic.

“But … we have Con-coding. I-I have more than you. You might be fine, but me,” said Aquila, his words stalling as Skyfire pulled him into a loose hug.

“It’s not _Con-coding_. So, stop calling it that. Its war model coding. Its normal. The Autobots are just fools. Now, if it’s nothing, we at least get to see Echo, Sentinel and Sonic Trip,” said Skyfire kindly as his EM field intermingled with his twin’s. “But if Sentinel needs to get off the planet, we will be there.”

Drift, watching the twins a moment more, slipped into the open warehouse now that the two mechs had their backs to him. He couldn’t believe his luck. He found a ship off of this planet. Now, he just had to find a place to stowaway in the ship. Luckily, it looked like he was going to be in good company … Not that neither of the fliers were going to find out if he had anything say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See all my Ratchet haters. He cares. He might even get Breakdown and Knockout some alone time. I really, really, want to write that scene. Not even going to lie. And speaking of possible future pairings, I hadn’t even thought of the two sets of twins paring up until Drift’s scene here. Still don’t know if it would work out, but now I can’t get the image out of my head. Also, sorry for the lazy proofread. Its late and I’m old and cranky. :p


End file.
